


Who Taught You How to Hate

by Valpur



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Language Barrier, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot Twists, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9892511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valpur/pseuds/Valpur
Summary: He’d always known it was going to happen. There weren’t many ways to go for a rogue like him, but all in all he would have much preferred a clean hole in his skull rather than being hanged for robbery and murder. Especially because this one single, fucking time he was not guilty.--McCree is having the worst time of his life and an outlander happens to save his sorry ass.Things go awfully weird after that - and he enjoys it all too much.





	1. Not a vulture

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo here we are.  
> It's my first time writing in the Overwatch fandom and my first attempt at a long fic written straight in English, so any suggestion is more than welcome :3  
> I love this two nerds to pieces and I couldn't resist the temptation to give them some time together!  
> I'll update the tags (and the rating) while posting, so check them out of additional characters and warnings.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr too (@acupofgeek) for a chaotic and hysterical mix of assorted fangirling.

Jesse McCree was not surprised. Disappointed, angry, but not surprised in the least.

As the wooden planks creaked under his booted feet in the scorching hot air of California’s high noon he considered his life. Not something he did often – not during the day, at least – but having a noose around his neck brought forth some existential thinking he was not used to.

He’d always known it was going to happen. There weren’t many ways to go for a rogue like him, but all in all he would have much preferred a clean hole in his skull rather than being hanged for robbery and murder. Especially because this _one_ single, fucking time he was not guilty.

The rope scratched the sweaty skin of his throat, just above the neck of his worn out shirt. He tried to swallow but his mouth felt dry, filled with the taste of dust and injustice and – damn it – _fear_. It was something he was not accustomed to: he craved danger and challenged it on a daily basis, but this? The quiet huffing of the two horses, the faraway screeching of vultures in the blazing blue sky, the squeaking of the tree he was going to dangle from – not the most exciting music to leave this world to.

A trickle of sweat ran down his spine as he wiggled his tied hands.

The truth was very plain: despite his lack of love for life, Jess McCree didn’t want to die. Not like this – not when he had a fault to avenge. He smacked his chapped lips and threw his head back; the knot bumped against the nape of his neck and a shiver of horror sent a wave of goosebumps up his arms.

“So, are y’all going to get a move or do you plan to leave me roasting for the whole afternoon? The devil’s never happy when his mates are late”. He wished so much that his voice sounded as scornful as he planned, but something broke in his deep tone.

_Fuck this all._

The pair of goddamned minions that Gabriel Reyes had picked to deal with the dirty job didn't seem particularly interested in conversation. They didn’t look him in the eyes, didn’t even exchange a single word with him on the long way from Salinas to the desertic spot that asshole Reyes had chosen for his execution. McCree spat on the carriage under his feet and rolled back his shoulders; they’d taken his hat and his guns and stripped him of everything but his pants, boots and shirt.

_Dead men need no frills._

A damp dark lock was sticking to his foreahead and he tried to puff it away with little success.

He knew what was coming next: a slap on the horses’ back, wheels rolling and the rope tensing.

The best scenario would have featured his neck snapping as the cart moved away, bringing him a quick and merciful death. But luck had forfeited him – no lucky man sported a noose around his neck, after all.

McCree felt his breath falter, his chest heaving as dark shadows gathered above his head and at the corner of his eyes.  
These blighted birds were going to pluck his eyes out without even waiting for him to be properly dead.

No hope, no chances to survive, just that endless waiting while Gabe’s men rummaged through his belongings.

He stomped his heel on the planks, spurs clinking against leather, and snarled.

“Just hang me already, I don’t have all day!”

“Shut the fuck up, McCree, and enjoy your last moments on Earth”, grunted one of the minions.  
To hell with that jerk. To hell with the thundering of his heart in his ears and the heavy burn of hatred clawing at his guts. Reyes had framed him for a bank robbery he _knew_ he didn’t commit, and for what? To get his bloody sheriff badge and half of the money.

It was more than unfair – it _sucked_.

He wanted to shut his eyes. It was not going to help or make him feel less infuriated (probably _scared_ was a better definition for how he felt right now, but no way he’d have let fear be the last thing he experienced before dying) but the red darkness of his closed lids was better than the blaze of sunlight or the ugly faces of his captors.

_I’ll haunt your nightmares, Reyes, this I swear. And not being able to kill you is my final regret._

But before his lashes touched his cheekbones something leaped on the rocks, at the far left of his field of vision. Dark and big and definitely _not_ a vulture.

It was not hope that sent his pulse speeding, nor curiosity. He was dead and this was his only certainty now, and yet…

_What is that thing?_

These were his last moments on earth indeed, but maybe he could get a couple more.

“Listen up, scamps, I’m gonna die anyway so why don’t ya grant me a last wish?”

“Shut your mouth, McCree, we…”

“One last cigar. Is that asking too much?”

The two men stared at each other, and the tallest one shrugged and gestured his companion to the pile of McCree belongings at the bottom of the cart.

McCree gave one last look at the canyon wall at his left and saw it again, whatever it was: a shadow lurking behind a rock, quite different from the dark shapes of the birds of prey flying in low circles above his head.

The sudden pressure on his lips startled him, but why worry? He was entitled to some degree of distress, so no one was surprised at his blinking when a tiny flame lit up the cigar.

“Here you go, lad. No reason to deny you this, am I right?”

The sweet scent of smoke and tobacco filled his nose ad McCree inhaled it deeply, throwing his head back with a not-so-fake moan of pleasure.

“I’m sure this will shorten your stay in Purgatory, man. I’ll be waiting for you at the bar when your time comes…”

He grinned at the two men and gave a quick check at the canyon – the strange shadow was gone.

For a dreadful moment he felt his heart sink. Maybe he had imagined it all, the demented hope of a dying man refusing to face his fate. And yet…

It happened so suddenly McCree almost dropped his cigar. The air hissed and something shot so near his face it ruffled his beard, and less than an eyeblink later the tallest of the thugs let out a sharp gasp.   
Time slowed down and the world stopped moving. In the silence the man lifted a shaky hand and wrapped it around the shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest; he stared at his partner, then at McCree with eyes wide with astonishment and outrage, and he collapsed on his back without a sound.

“Bloody fucking hell!”

The remaining minion wasted no time reaching for his guns; he slapped the horses and ducked behind them as the two beasts whinnied and reared, moving the cart from under McCree.

“No no _no_! Fuck!” he snarled, but the wheels were moving fast. He tried to keep his toes on the wooden surface til the very last but stood no chance against the running horses; the rope tensed and the noose tightened around his neck, taking away his breath, his cigar and his wits.

For a long, horrific moment he just dangled from the dead tree, branches moaning at the tug of his massive body, and what he considered the very last seconds of his life sucked badly. He needed air and help and all he could do was let out strangled sounds and darting a desperate gaze all around.

A gun shot so near his ears hurt – and the last thing he needed was more pain; the rope was too new and stretchy and appearently his neck was still in one piece, but the agony was unbearable.

Talk about bad luck.

Danger and fear finally kicked in over the roaring scream of blood in his head. It was something primal, not entirely human, howling at him with the voice of instinct and survival; McCree lifted his tied hands and grabbed the noose; the coarse fibers burned his palms and his arms and shoulders – fuck, all of his body tensed in a blaze of sharp pain as he pulled himself up, hooking his ankles around the rope and easing the tension on his throat. He managed to take a single, ragged breath and forced himself not to cough – failing miserably. Upside down, skin peeling from his hands, he grasped the rope in a desperate attempt to keep the balance and finally, finally the pressure of the knot loosened slightly. In the moment of rest, he heard it before he could even see it.

Another shot, another hiss in the air and a final thud. The last of Gabe’s men fell on his face with a black arrow stuck in his neck. The heat of the desert filled with the mixed smells of smoke and blood, and McCree groaned as his shoulders started to burn from the tension.

He’d been right, it was not a vulture – those things ignored the shooting and were still flying above him, screeching. The man walked slowly under the unrelenting sun, and for what McCree could see from his undignified position he was an outlander. Long black air tied in a knot on the top of his head, a sharp beard and a dark cape draped around a thick frame, the stranger walked to the cart a few steps away and grabbed the reins, soothing the horses with slow pats on their necks. There was a bow slung across his chest and a quiver filled with arrows, but McCree, still panting and cursing between his teeth, could clearly see he was not one of the natives.

“Hey! Y-You, there”, he gasped, his eyes watering with the effort of not hanging himself. “I could use some help here”.

Two deep, long eyes fixed on him. He knew he was not at his best, shirt coming loose around his shoulders and hair toulsed, but he tried for his best charming smile.

It worked, probably, or maybe the outlander took pity on him. In another situation McCree would have cursed for his wounded pride, but in his position – literally – he was more inclined to ignore the embarrassment and enjoy the relief as the man went back to the tree. He briefly disappeared from his sight, and McCree felt a sting of worry – was he gone? Did he ignore his request? His eyes searched around and found no hint of the stranger, but then the tree creaked and moved, exasperating the friction on his throat, and the rope began to wiggle. The man was perched on the lowest branch, working on the noose with a knife.

“No wait…” he muttered. “Don’t – I will…”

Too late. McCree caught a glimpse of metal before falling to the ground with a cry. He fell face first in the dust and the last gust of air left his lungs; fighting to slip his fingers under the noose he arched his back and kicked the red ground, until he managed to loosen the rope and fill his chest with a lungful of dusty air.

He rolled on his back and started coughing, long and harsh fits that made his mouth taste like blood and his eyes water even more. The few, deep breaths he took were pure bliss despite the pain searing his skin – bruised hands and flayed throat and _damn_ his head and shoulders were throbbing where he landed.

But he was alive. Again he’d slipped between the bony hands of Death and now an hysterical laughter mixed with his attempts to regain his composure. He almost ripped the rope from his wrists and nearly broke a tooth in the process, but after some struggle his hands were free too.

He was still on his back, arms and legs splayed on the dry hot ground, and a manic, wide grin on his lips.

Alive and very, very angry, although not with the stranger now jumping from the tree.

McCree pulled himself on his knees and ran a broad hand through his messy hair, looking up at the man in front of him.

No, he definitely was _not_ one of the natives, even if he had almost the same silky black hair. His skin was paler and his features too sharp – and of course, no one from that corner of the world would wear such a fancy, if worn out, garment. With a last fit of coughing laughter he stood up and patted his thighs to dust them off.

“Howdy, man? Nice one with those two shits”, he grumbled. His voice was still unsteady. “Name’s McCree, Jesse McCree, and you saved my sorry ass”.

The archer narrowed his eyes and stared at him deeply, and something on his face made McCree shiver on the inside. Why was he looking at him like that? There was a hint of manace on the man’s face and a whole world of distrust – nothing he wasn’t used to. With a shrug McCree walked past him and retrieved his hat, slapping it against his leg before putting it back on his head, and threw his sarape over his shoulders. The cigar was still quietly burning on the ground; he stooped and picked it up, never losing sight of the stranger, and breathing in a deep  puff of smoke he proceeded to fasten his belt.

He felt himself again, the weight of his gun resting against his hips, and tipped his hat at the man still staring at him. He was beginning to unnerve him, with his deadpan look, so clearly out of his place. Everything, from the golden ribbon holding his ponytail in piece to the – hell, how could he miss it? It was impressive – massive tattoed bare shoulder peeking from his garment was odd.

“Not gonna tell me yer name, ain’t you?” he said, voice still weak after the attempted hanging. “Do you even understand me? McCree”, he repeated, pointing at his own chest with both thumbs. “And you…”

He waved a hand at him and only got a snort as an answer.

“I see, don’t wanna chat, mh? I suppose you don’t even understand my fond ‘thank you’, then… so you’re probably have nothing against me rummaging through these two fuckers’ stuff to see whether they have anything of value”. Since the nameless archer didn’t give him any reply apart from a cock of a black eyebrow McCree smiled and proceeded to check the corpses of the two minions.

“Pretty handy with that bow, lad. Still, I wonder why not going for some good ol’ lead and powder instead of that thing you carry around. Ah, good!” He had to rip the vest off one of the two bodies to reach for the inner pocket, where some coins and, more importantly, a silver flask were hidden. He sat back on his heels and popped the stopper with his teeth; the smell of whisky floated straight to his brain and reignited the need to get lost in the mists of alcohol. He felt the usual hint of contempt when he took a sip, his mouth invaded by the liquid fire he was so accustomed to, and some of the panic he’d felt on that damned cart started to melt away.

Good. It felt _good_ , that familiar taste and tingling sensation promising to numb his brain – but not yet. He glanced at the stranger and licked his lips, handing him the flask with a nod.

“Here, have some – er… Johnny? May I call you Johnny? You don’t look like a Johnny but I can’t think of a better name for now, so…”

The man sat on the ground at his side, raising a cloud of red dust around him. Now that he was close McCree noticed some details – and there was no way for him to tell why he was being so attentive towards Johnny or whatever his name was. He was shorter than him, and almost everyone was, McCree being too big for his own good, and even if his face showed little to no lines there was some grey on his temples and down his sideburns. More or less his age, then, and with the body of a warrior.

_What the fuck, McCree? Pull yourself together._

He lowered his hat on his forehead and chewed on his cigar while his unlikely companion accepted his offer with a half gloved hand.

“Woah there! Easy with that stuff”, McCree tried to warn him, but the archer had already drank and was swallowing without any apparent distress. He did pant a bit before licking his lips, and McCree laughed in silence and reached out for the flask.

“Aye, that’s what you need after a day like this, right? And…”

“Hanzo”.

The sound rumbled like the echo of a distant hurricane and McCree stopped, the flask inches from his lips.

“Oh, so _that_ ’s your name? Hanzo?” and pointed a finger at him. The man – Hanzo – nodded and repeated the name with that low, deep voice, making it sound like the soft roar of a wild animal.

McCree drank again and the whisky steadied the leftovers of the turmoil in his chest.

“See? Told ya didn’t look like a Johnny. Good to know”. He closed the flask and let out a sigh, throwing his head back and looking at the disappointed vultures slowly flying away. “Not today, fuckers, and especially not _me_!”

The shock of the last hours faded away with another chug of whisky and he started to consider his current situation. A stranger saved his life and was now sitting next to him in complete silence.

It was weird and strangely comfortable, but then the thought of Reyes leapt in his mind and he clenched his fists. He’d been barely eighteen, right in the middle of a promising career as a scoundrel, when that bastard picked him up and gave him a place in his band of misfits, and for a dozen of years it had been all fun and games – assaulting caravans and robbing travelers, all things that earned McCree an outstanding ability with his gun and a bounty on his head he used to be very proud of. Then that bounty had become a burden, and not out of his own fear of getting caught: he remembered the day he woke up, slumped on a saloon table stenching of stale beer and despair, realizing his life was all _wrong_. He could have been more and _wanted_ to be more, maybe even a good person for a change, someone people wouldn’t run from on sight. But Gabe didn’t like his resignation plans, and had spent the last decade hunting him down.

_But now it’s my turn to hunt you._

He sprung on his feet and looked down at Hanzo; the archer gave him the most suspicious look before doing the same and facing him, arms crossed on his broad chest.

“So, here’s the thing – I know you probably don’t get anything I’m sayin’ but don’t mind me, I just like the sound of my voice. I have a matter to settle and I’m going in that direction”, and he pointed west, where Salinas stood. “I’m gettin’ the cart and the horses and everything, but for now you can come with me”.

He didn’t even wait for an answer and overtook the nearest corpse without flinching at the sight. The horses – a pair of dappled beasts with sturdy legs and necks way too thin– snorted when he took the reins and rolled them on his thick forearm before climbing on the cart. There were some sacks where he used to stand, ready to be hanged, but he didn’t inspect them further.

“Wanna go for a ride?” he said patting the bench beside him. Hanzo looked at him – and he did it often, way too deep and inquisitive for McCree’s own comfort – and then he made the smallest gesture with his head, making a strand of hair swing on his forehead. McCree reached out for him and after a second of hesitation Hanzo took his hand, hopping on board and sitting at his side.

Glancing at him McCree cracked a unreciprocated smile.

_I’m not taking you with me, lad. I have a revenge to take and I fear you’re not involved._

 

It was dark when they stopped. The whole afternoon had dragged along in a silence broken only by McCree stubborn attempt at a conversation he didn’t really believe possible.

“See, I’m not sayin’ I’m one of the good guys, but I’m tryin’ my best to be an acceptable human being. Been out of jail for years now, and mind you, there’s quite a lot of people comin’ after my hide. Not very good tho, no they’re not, and not many live long enough to tell how I got out of their grasp”. Hanzo just stared at the horizon, hands resting on his knees and his somber silhouette almost black as the world around them slipped into the night.

McCree sighed and shook his head.

“Not gonna give me the pleasure of a reply, are you? Well I guess it’s all for good. Just know that I’m almost sorry, and you don’t need to know why”.

Salinas was at least another day away and the sky was a clear blue embroided with too many stars. McCree halted the horses and cracked his knuckles, turning to Hanzo.

“Let’s set up camp. There must be something to eat in the cart and some fodder for the horses too”.

Hanzo pursed his lips and just got off the cart, almost disappearing into the shadows the moment he turned his back to McCree.

He’d been right, there was something to chew on and some clear water too in the supplies; while Hanzo was busy lighting up a small fire – no need to tell him to, the man had a good sense of initiative – a pang of guilt stung his heart.

_I have to, and wish things were different, but I really have no business with you, Hanzo. And most of all you’re better off without me, just like everyone else._

And yet his too familiar self loathing prodded him in the soul as he set the horses free from the cart, tying them to a nearby tree – not too nearby, though, just enough not to give away his plans.

By the time he’d tended to the horses, carefully sneaking some bags of supplies on their backs, Hanzo was sitting by the fire, and McCree felt even worse. The red flames painted his glossy hair with gold and those dark eyes, now not focused on looking at him with concern and distrust, were so sad his guts clenched.

_Here’s someone who’s running away from himself, and I pity him._

Those were esactly the kind of thoughts that were not appropriate for the moment before a betrayal, so McCree quickly brushed them away with a muttered curse and his most devious grin. He sat by the fire opposite to Hanzo and took another cigar from his pocket, lightning it up in the flames.

They sat in silence for a long time and Hanzo didn’t refuse a strip of leather-hard dried meat and some water. It wasn’t long before he started to blink more often than normal, and McCree welcomed the long yawn the archer failed to hide in his sleeve.

“You can sleep”, he said out loud, gesturing at the roll of covers by the cart. “Sleep, got it?” He even mimicked the act by ostensibly closing his eyes and faking a loud snore. Hanzo frowned and looked around as if searching for some threat, at which McCree stood up and tilted back his hat.

He didn’t mean to rest in the first place, and even if he’d had that in mind sleep didn’t come  easy to him, not with so little booze in his stomach.

“I’ll stand guard, no need to worry”, and he turned his back on Hanzo, heading to a rock not so far from where the horses were quietly snorting in the cool night air.

Long hours passed by, with the symphony of night sounds echoing all around them. Sitting on the rock, one hand on his gun and the other shielding his cigar to hide its ambers from sight, McCree _waited_.

He waited and watched – the black shapes of rocks and dead trees around them, the flight of a night bird, silent as death under the stars. And he kept on waiting until he glanced sideways and saw that Hanzo wasn’t staring into the flames anymore; he was curled up by the fireplace, and all McCree could see of him was a shock of black hair and the reflection of red sparkles on his silky robe.

His heart felt heavier. Hanzo was sleeping, and he could think of little things that screamed ‘trust’ more than letting an almost complete stranger see you so defenseless.

 _That’s plain stupid, he should have know better,_ he quickly said to himself, before regret kicked in.

The horses were resting with their heads low, barely moving their ears in the still darkness.

His cigar was long since gone out and he was nervously rolling it between his teeth. No one around, so no real risks in leaving Hanzo behind.

His conscience grumbled in disdain but McCree was all too skilled in ignoring it; still, as he stood from his guard post, he considered the cart. There was water and food he didn’t really need – being a tough desert man had its perks – and the road to Salinas featured some places to stock up.

He tiptoed to the horses without taking his eyes off Hanzo, who hadn’t moved from his spot, and swiftly loosened the reins from the branch. No saddle, and he immediately sent a tender apology to his balls, but he had to do without it.

He checked Hanzo one last time, desperately trying to ban the weight oppressing his chest, to ignore the definite feeling of being wrong, and grabbed one of the horses’ mane.

 _That’s what I do, what I am; no one could expect anything for me and I’m not disappointing anyone. He shouldn’t have trusted me in the first place_.

But as he pulled himself up and slung a leg over the animal’s back Hanzo abruptly raised his head.

“Sorry lad, gotta go. Nothing personal”, he yelled at him, digging his heels in the horse’s sides and making the poor beast rear up along with his companion.

A furious flow of curses in a language he didn’t understand accompanied the soft thuds of hooves in the dust; an arrow shot so near his head it scraped his hat, and McCree had to keep it in place with one hand.

He’d expected Hanzo to go after him, to insist in his attacks, but nothing more happened. As he galloped away in the night all that remained were curses and a growing guilt choking him.

 _Sorry_ , he said again, _but I have to do this thing all by myself, and you need nothing less than the bad luck I carry with me._

The last sparkles of their campfire died in the distance and McCree didn’t once turn back.

Gabriel Reyes wasn’t waiting for him and he had a lovely surprise to deliver.

And then why on Earth was he feeling so distraught?

He shook the thought away and bent on the horse’s neck, urging the other one to follow in their run with a tug of his fist on the reins.

_I’m sorry._

These simple words kept on ringing in his ears, making him as miserable as ever.


	2. We're even

The horses were exhausted and so was he, sweating like hell under the sun. Less than a day had passed since that damned noose had been slung around his neck and now McCree was cursing the morning heat. No clouds to save him, no more whisky, and after so many hours on horseback his whole body ached.

It was easier – not _better_ , but easier – to focus on the tension in his thighs and the uncomfortable friction under his butt than to let his mind reach to the dark corners where his guilt resided.

By dawn his thirst for revenge had faded into a dull sensation of injustice. Not toward himself, not really: it was something deep and obscure he tried in vain to push back beyond the threshold of his consciousness.

He relaxed his shoulders and the movement slowed his pace; huffing, flanks sweaty and lips framed by white foam, the horses eventually came to a halt and flapped their ears in the still air.

McCree took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, his back arching forward. He was tired and not just from the ride.

Sighing deeply he dismounted and patted his horse on the rear, and the poor thing wiggled his tail and slapped him across the face.

“Hey there, I know I pushed y’all too much but I didn’t deserve that, I…”

His hand slipped through the damp fur and another sigh escaped his lips.

_I deserve this and much worse. I’m a coward and a liar, I abandoned the man who saved my life, and for what?_

He opened the bags on his spare horse and produced a handful of fodder; both the animals turned to his hand and grazed eagerly, soft lips chewing against his palm.

_For Reyes, that’s it. I want to go and get my revenge without even knowing if he’s still in Salinas, ignoring all of the minions surrounding him – that’s foolish and reckless, and what good being such an idiot has ever done to me?_

The sweet taste of vengeance turned to ash in his mouth and he spat on the ground.

So much for all of his plans of getting a decent life and being a better person. He forfeited his first real chance to do the right thing, something just plain good.

He rolled his fingers in tight fists and kicked at a pebble while his head started to buzz with too many thoughts.

 _I need to drink_ , he thought, remembering with a shot of anxiety that his flask was dry and he had no way to numb the growing feeling of bitterness and regret. He hit his forehead with a fist and gritted his teeth.

“The fuck have I done…”

It had been easy to soothe his remorse by repeating he didn’t leave Hanzo all alone, that he was a grown man clearly more than capable to take care of himself, but it wasn’t working anymore.

McCree turned his back to the horses and looked at the way he’d ran along during the night.

Was he beyond redemption? It was the most unpleasant of thoughts but also probably the truth, and yet…

_And yet there’s something I can do to make things right, even if it’s only facing my actions and get the proper reckoning._

He rubbed the back of his hand on his mouth and straightened his back, grabbing the reins and lifting himself on horseback in a single swift gesture. The sharp tug of his left hand made the animals flinch and snort loudly, but as he kicked their sides with a click of his tongue they settled for a steady trotting pace.

He turned around and hurried back, hoping the horses could endure more hours on the road.

If he was right – and he usually was – Hanzo was still around where he’d left him, probably so pissed he would be ready to welcome him with a rain of arrows.

Apologizing was not going to be an easy task, and he took mental note of approaching him as slowly and not threateningly as possible. He’d escaped death more than enough for the whole week, thank you very much.

As he traced back his steps in the desert something warm stirred in his chest. Maybe this was the right time, maybe his path of redemption ran through this impulsive decision of not running away. No excuses this time, he had done something wrong and he could atone. It was a nice fantasy to indulge in, and no matter how aggressive Hanzo’s reaction might be, it was a good thing to do.

He basked in his optimistic state of mind, hope and expectation making his head spin, for most of the afternoon. The horses were nearly exhausted and he wouldn’t risk to push them too much and cripple them, but he kept them going as fast as he could. The sky was starting to turn red when he found a track.

It was not what he’d expected: he squinted at the dark indentures on the ground, making out what looked like wheel tracks in the dust. He pulled the reins and dismounted, back creaking – damn, he was not a kid anymore – as he knelt to examine the clue closer.

A cart. Not heavy, the traces barely visible on the dry soil, and the faintest shadow of hooves leading it. It was near where he’d last seen Hanzo and something unpleasant kicked him in the guts.

Instinct made the hair on his arms stand. McCree squinted and looked forward, seeking for any hint of human presence. All he found, and a shiver froze his heart for a second, were the dark outlines of black wings yelling in the sky.

Vultures. _Again_.

He shot on his feet and every muscle in his body tensed. There was danger in the air, a scent that made his brain work faster. He took his gun and left the horses in the long shadows of the canyon, his nerves tingling at the immediate, obscure threat.

One step and then another, with the maddening sound of grit creaking under his boots, McCree walked by the canyon’s wall. Something happened, sure, and nothing good ever occurred in that bloody desert. He breathed long and deep and tried to calm his pounding heart.

Slowly, steadily, something inside him relaxed. His senses took all the room in his mind, pushing back nightmares and guilt for a blessed second – he lived for this, taking risks and banish his personal demons.

The red rocks brushed against his shoulder and he leaned his back against the wall, creeping until the last inch of stone and peeking out.

He could run from them, but his demons always got a way to find him. His grip on the gun tightened almost painfully as his eyes scanned the area, over the thickening darkness to the slumped shapes of bodies. He counted four and his mouth slowly opened – there were arrows stuck in the corpses, except for one.

Hanzo was sitting against a rock, head lulling forward, motionless.

McCree closed his eyes and bit his fist still clutching the gun.

Too late. He was a fool and a hopeless mess. In an unnatural silence he stepped from the wall and walked forward, over the dead men. He didn’t know any of them, common scum looking for easy loot – six of them, not four, all killed by a deadly accurate shot.

He felt dizzy, and not from the sight of the corpses, as he reached Hanzo.

_It’s my fault._

He’d abandoned the poor man in the middle of nothing and now there he was; Hanzo’s dark hair was a tangle around his face, colorless in the dusk, and his eyes were closed.

 _My fault_ , McCree repeated to himself, and the old demon of despair choked him again. He sunk his teeth in his knuckles so hard he felt the skin pulsate under the pressure but didn’t let go, anchoring himself to the painful sensation to keep his mind in one piece.

He approached the archer and the faint, sweet smell of blood turned his stomach.

Gone. He was gone, and all he’d know of him was that this sad, skilled man had saved his life and only got betrayal as a payment.

_Good job at wasting another chance to make the difference, McCree._

Still, he knelt at Hanzo’s side with an unbearable urge to curse and hit something, preferably himself. There was a cut on Hanzo’s head and a dark, wet patch of blood on his side; McCree leaned closer and shook his head, still unable to put his gun away.

“I… I… fuck, I screwed up really bad”, he groaned. He bowed his head and bit his tongue to stifle a shapeless sigh. It hurt – like having all of his bones on fire and a stone in the pit of his stomach. It hurt and was getting worse by the second, with Hanzo’s pale profile invading his thoughts.

_Maybe I’m a monster and nothing more, and this can’t be changed. Gabe was right about me, and…_

The smallest of gasps escaped Hanzo’s lips and McCree fell back on his heels, breath caught in his throat. His heart was racing again, but this time for a completely different reason. He reached out and, despite the subtle trembling of his hands, gently lay his fingers on the archer’s cheek.

It was warm and soft, far from the rigor of death – the man was very much alive.

“Howdy, stranger? Can-Can you hear me? You don’t need to understand what I’m sayin’, just… just nod if you’re here with me?”

Hanzo didn’t move, his face leaning into McCree’s touch. He was still breathing lightly from his nose and a dark bruise was spreading through his face.

McCree was shaking for real now. That mysterious, incredible man had took down six men all by his own, using only his bow – a bow that was nowhere to be found, at the moment – and was still alive to tell the story.

_For now, at least._

The vultures were nearer now and, from the darkness, an owl let out his chilling call.

“Well I see yer even quieter than usual, eh, Han? Lemme tell ya one thing, I’m not gonna leave you here this time”. He seized the man’s wrist and pulled, lifting Hanzo from the rocks and holding him against his side. He was heavier than he’d expected and he grunted as he stood up, the limp body offering him no aid or resistance.

“Here’s the plan”, he mumbled, dragging the archer to the horses. Luckily for him they were not so faraway. “You need water and rest, and me, I need booze and a good punching. Let’s start with water, there’s a well not far from here and we’re gonna spend the night there. Any objection?”

Hanzo was still completely passed out and McCree had to gently sit him down to get the reins. In doing so he accidentally touched his forehead, and under the slick trail of blood he realized his skin was not just warm – it burned.

Not dead but not safe either. It took McCree a good deal of his physical strenght and balance to lift Hanzo on horseback. All in all he was quite relieved the archer was unconscious, because for the less than little he knew of him McCree was pretty sure he’d had refused such an ungraceful accomodation. The thought of having to deal with his outrage was strangely comforting.

“It’s gonna be good, archer. Oh it’s gonna be, ye only need some rest and… and then we’ll see, am I right?”, he babbled, securing hanzo to the unsaddled horse with what little rope he got to find in his bags.

“See? No need to worry. Not at all, it’s not far and… and…”

His voice died in a whisper and McCree had to look away, not standing the sight of Hanzo drawn face and blood-caked hair.

_My fault._

Suddenly he couldn’t speak anymore; the very sound of his own voice was unbearable, and guilt drained him of any positive sensation.

He was a bad person, he deserved to be lonely and people were safer without him around. Hanzo was just the latest of the countless evidences of the subtle curse on his life.

McCree pressed his hat on his head and took both sets of reins in his fist, walking in silence in the twilight.

_My fault. But I’m not gonna miss this opportunity. Please, I don’t want to._

 

Hanzo made a feeble attempt at moving from his undignified position halfway through their errands, causing McCree to stop and check him out immediately. All the archer managed to produce was a soft moan of outrage before collapsing again on the horse.

_At least you’re still alive…_

And he stayed so until they reached the well. Its skeletal shape – chapped wooden beams crossing upon little more than a hole on the ground – stood black against the night, unwelcoming and ghostly. McCree secured the horses to one of the poles and took off his sarape, spread it on the ground by the well and immediately lifted Hanzo in his arms. A grimace darted on the outlander’s sharp features when he accidentally hit the wound on his side, worsening McCree’s regret.

He sat him down and gently lay him on the sarape, holding his head to avoid further damage by hitting the soil. Hanzo took a shaky breath and adjusted a bit, something encouraging considered his general conditions.

Back on his feet McCree tipped his hat and sighed. Even in the darkness he could see the dark patch of blood on Hanzo’s temple, and he had no idea how serious the injury could be. The man didn’t look like he planned on waking up any time soon, and yet he shivered lightly.

There was not much he could do, so he spent some time lighting up a small fire with what little wood was available around the well; in the dancing flames he tended to the horses, dipping the tattered bucket down the well and gently preventing them from drinking too much and too fast. The poor beasts snorted and tried to graze his hair and he laughed softly.

“Easy there, big boys”, he whispered. Even under the faint glow of the fireplace the water looked muddy; he cupped his hands and drank some, grimacing at the foul taste.

“This will have to do, I fear”. A hushed sound rose from the slumped pile of silk and bad luck that was Hanzo. He was waking up, harsh breaths escaping from his rattling teeth; McCree quickly took a dented mug from his bags and filled it, hurrying back at Hanzo’s side and crouching beside him.

He looked wretched, pale and panting lightly, his skin covered in cold sweat. McCree gently slid an arm behind his neck and sat him up -  Hanzo was sick and feverish, but he could not tell if it was from his wound or for the long hours spent under the sun.

“Han, I’d really appreciate your cooperation right now”, he said as he pressed the mug against his lips. “Ye need to drink and unfortunately I can’t offer you anything better than this”.

Some water trickled down Hanzo’s beard, but after a bit of resistence he parted his lips and took a hesitant sip, opening his eyes. For what McCree could glimpse in the gloom one of the pupils was wider than the other, and it didn’t look promising.

He was not good at taking care of people, but how different could it be from taking care of horses? He let Hanzo drink for a while and stopped him halfway through the mug.

“Not too much, for now. You can have some more if you behave like a good boy”. He’d wanted to sound ironic, but something shifted in his guts and his heart skipped a beat. McCree frowned and looked at Hanzo, still half unconscious and shaking.

“Look what I have done…”

There was little more he could do. He waited for a bit, gave him some more water and rolled him in his sarape, patting his shoulder once more,  maybe one too many.

Another restless night – and this time there was gonna be no running away before dawn. McCree rubbed his burning eyes, cursing his soberness and that dangerous, strange sensation in his chest.

Hanzo coughed a couple of times and huffed soundly, mumbling something in his mysterious language.

Sleep was no easy task for McCree - never had been since those long gone days in the orphanage, when closing his eyes could result in his spare belongings being stolen by some older kid or one of the meaner nuns. His years on the road didn't make things easier and only during his serve under Reyes he'd known something akin to safety.

Now that was gone too, ashes and dust on his soul; Gabe wanted him dead - the latest in a long, long list - and of their old friendship now only vengeance was left.

Vengeance and memories of a gang of runaways turned into soldiers and family by a strong willed, ruthless yet caring man who picked a teen McCree from the mud and shaped him into an excellent gunslinger and accomplice. Ten years and then his conscience had raised its voice, and with it regret and guilt - and yet those days of adrenaline, with the smell of gunpowder and the perfume of a different bed companion every night, were dear to his heart. They hurt, but what else was left for him?

He was so lost in his reminescence that he didn't even realize when it turned into a dream. It was a messy, distressing trip where a younger version of the man he was now - there were no lines at the corners of his eyes and his shoulders were not as massive - roamed endlessly in a purple and black desert, looking for something always beyond his grasp.

It was such an unnerving thing he was almost happy when a sudden rasping sound woke him abruptly. Being used at sleeping with an eye open McCree skipped the whole foggy, awake-but-not-really stage and sat up, turning to the source of the sound.

Hanzo was coughing heavily, propped up on an elbow and chilled to the core. McCree crept to him and helped him stand up - the man seemed too determined to do so by himself, but his legs were not cooperating and he kept on faltering in his frustrated attempts.

At first Hanzo made a show to refuse him, swatting the hand on his shoulder, eyes shut tight and hair coming undone, but McCree snarled.

"Don't play the tough guy with me, it's not working", and he hauled him to his feet, one harm around the archer's waist. Hanzo opened one very red and very offended eye and shot him a killer look, at which McCree raised an eyebrow and laughed.

"... no, that's not working either. You'll have to punch me in the face if you want to hurt me, at least". He held him up as Hanzo tried to walk, but another fit of cough caught him and turned into a dry, pitiful retching. There was too little for Hanzo to throw up but he did so anyway, grabbing McCree's shoulder and shaking in his arms.

_He's worse than I expected._

Luckily enough the attack of nausea subsided after long minutes and Hanzo slipped from McCree's grip, slouching forward on his knees.

McCree left him there, breathing hard and slow through his nose, and went to pick some more water; this time Hanzo didn't need his assistance and drank thirstily, stopping halfway through the mug and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before letting the last chug roll down his throat.

"Here. Better?" McCree couldn't help but asking him, even though he knew the man couldn't understand a word. Hanzo lowered the pewter cup and gave him the quickest, most annoyed nod ever.

"Well, I suppose this sounds the same in every language, right? I'm glad you're recovering, stranger. But you're not really a stranger anymore, are you?" He made a gesture as if to pat Hanzo's hand but stopped and turned it into a quite awkward rub of his own beard. Standing up McCree shrugged and chuckled, turning his back to Hanzo and adjusting his hat.

Some of the oppression he'd felt in his stomach eased; the archer was probably going to survive, so one less shadow burdened him. He was starting to feel better - not good yet, but it was a pleasant change from his usual and often laughed off numbness.

A big, light hand touched his arm and McCree stopped, breath stuck in his throat. It felt like that gentle pressure could leave scorched marks on his skin and his heart did a somersault. He bit his lower lip and turned slowly.

He didn't see them coming. Blame it on the darkness, on his own exhaustion - he was caught completely off guard. Hanzo's knee sunk in his solar plexus and took his breath away, and before his muscles could decide to send some helt a fist - quick as a snake - punched him right in the jaw.

McCree rolled on his heel but managed to stand, even with a constellation of flickering white stars dancing around the corners of his eyes; as pain seared through his skin and bones he found himself with a hand on the gun, half pulling it out of its holster by instinct.

"Damned little fucker", he hissed, but as he caught an enraged breath and blinked the daze away he noticed Hanzo was back on the ground, sitting and looking at him with defying, fiery eyes. He lifted his chin, grabbed the sarape and wrapped it around his body, rolling then on the side with an outraged grunt.

McCree let his fingers slip from the gun and massaged his jaw with an unexpected smile. First off, he was pretty sure that outlander was really good at fighting, and not just with that bow of his: despite his wounded pride he had to admit that Hanzo'd been too swift to even see him moving, and McCree was far from having slow reflexes. He'd have been long dead, had it been so.

And second thing second, something deep down the darkest recesses of his head sighed in relief.

That, too, sounded the same in every part of the world.

_‘We're even and fuck off. Good night.’_

To his surprise - especially considering how much his face hurt - as he sat a couple of meters from Hanzo and stretched out his hands to the fire, he felt his lids go heavy; he yawned and his jaw clicked painfully, but he'd had worse. He lowered the brim of his hat on his eyes, leaning back against the fence of the well.

After a while he felt Hanzo's breath slow and knew he was sleeping.

_This is a good start, but I can do something else to fix the mess I caused. I know what to do._

He crossed his arms behind his head.

_It's gonna be alright, you'll see._

But he had no idea who he was talking to.

He smiled and slipped into unconsciousness.

 

The sun rose on a clouded horizon and found McCree already up and about. The horses were well rested and were now wiggling their long tails to drive away the first morning flies.

It had been a cold night with nothing but the confort of the small campfire, but McCree felt almost good. He could have used something stronger than that brownish water, but he drank some anyway, pouring a whole bucket over his head. As water ran down his shirt and soaked his hair he glimpsed the ghost of a movement. He turned to see Hanzo rubbing his eyes and shaking off the sarape with a confused expression on his face.

"Howdy, Hanzo, and welcome back among the livin'!" he greeted him, a bit more cheerful than was necessary.

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled; when he eventually looked at McCree his eyes went wide. One more than the other, actually, considered the vaste bruise spreading form his temple to his cheekbone, but he was there. McCree felt his smile crack slightly at the intensity of that stare and put his hat back on his head, shiedling himself from that sudden interest.

The faraway voice of his conscience purred, but he quickly ignored it and got back to business.

"See, I was thinkin' about our next move - yer not gonna go anywhere right now, so why not come with me? I've..."

_... been alone for too long._

"... let's say I could use a partner. And I have an idea". He went back to Hanzo, glad to see his eyes were not so lit as the moment before. There was a hint of red on his cheeks, but this just meant he was not as pale as he used to be.

McCree stood upon him and pointed at the silk-clad side, the fabric darkened by dry blood.

"How's that? I didn't check it but it didn't kill you, so..."

Hanzo opened his vest to reveal a ripped torso  - McCree didn't even try to wonder why he was noticing it, settling for a moderate and hopeless embarrassment - and a long gash a palm above his hipbone. The skin around the wound was red but not worryingly so and when Hanzo stretched it didn't open, causing him just the slightest flinch of suffering. He put his arm back in the soft sleeve and got on his feet, steady enough to refuse with a gesture of his fingers the hand McCree was offering him.

"Not so bad, I see. Look, Hanzo", and at hearing his own name the archer tilted his head on the side, his face brightening a bit. McCree lost his words for a second at the sudden change: Hanzo, despite his general miserable conditions, looked younger and gentler without that stern look on his face. "Er. Yeah, I mean... I was thinking. _We_ could go", and he pointed at the two of them. Hanzo shrugged and kept on listening with a blank face, "and retrieve _your bow_ ". McCree mimed the act of shooting an arrow and gestured to the desert. "If you wish, I mean. It's my fault they got it from you and... and I would like to... you know, get it back".

He suddenly felt stupid. The man couldn't understand him and in any case he was making a fool of himself: Hanzo had all the reasons not to trust him and he himself had just some scant clues to deduce where the bandits who robbed Hanzo might have been. He knew the desert pretty well and had a mental map of the main dens and hideouts of the area, but...

"Ah, nevermind. Let's just go and find something to eat, and then..."

Just like his punch, Hanzo's hand caught him completely off guard. He stood there, upright and dead serious, one hand stretched out to McCree. An universal offering of peace.

McCree swallowed the knot of emotion in his throat and lifted his head.

There stood someone willing to believe in his good faith. Hanzo was cold and didn't smile, but some of the distrust was gone from his dark eyes.

 _You've been an ungrateful coward_ , they seemed to say, _but I want to give you this last chance to be a man and not a dog._

With a deep breath McCree clenched his teeth and took Hanzo's hand, shaking it firmly. The grip on his fingers was stronger than he'd expected and it made him smile.

There were worse companions for a ride in the canyons, looking for stolen goods.

"Fine, then. Let's go get back what's yours, and then - ah, darlin', i'm gonna drink you under the table!"


	3. Stop savin' my life. Or maybe not.

McCree’s insecurities about their target were on point.

Hanzo showed some significative improvement during the day – he sat upright on the horse, reins resting in his fist and eyes scanning the environment – but it was late in the afternoon and the cart was nowhere to be seen. Following what little track they spotted only led to an extenuatingly slow ride in the middle of the desert, something McCree didn’t really mind, being over accustomed to the canned heat. He worried a bit about Hanzo, so out of place with his exotic garment and that dragon crawling up his shoulder and those shiny coal black hair…

No, to be completely honest it was _himself_ he was concerned about. At first he chatted about a lot of silly nothings, like that time he barely made it out alive after an assault to a caravan not far from San Diego or that other time Reyes had to bail him out (“And by ‘bail out’ I mean ‘put a gun to the sheriff’s head and steal his keys’”) from a stinky cell when he was nineteen. And then the one-way conversation had died out, and not for Hanzo’s lack of response. McCree was sure he was listening, maybe not understanding, but anytime he’d stop or falter he found the archer’s piercing eyes fixing on him.

Before noon he’d stopped talking, awfully aware of how comfortable the silence turned out to be. They had a goal, of course, but somehow – and McCree had no name for that weird sensation – he knew he was enjoying the ride for very different reasons. Every now and then he turned to Hanzo and found him returning his gaze. Not really smiling, but not even with the distrust and veiled disgust McCree usually saw on other people around him those years. And then he was back staring at the horizon, his profile so intense McCree had a hard time taking his eyes off him.

_Why? Is it because he’s so different from anyone I’ve ever met? Because he doesn’t know me and can’t see what a bad person I can be? Or is it just that I want to…_

His horse stopped to graze on a dry bush, and McCree was too lost in thoughts to prevent it to do so. He blinked and winced, almost sliding down the beast’s neck, and before he could regain his composure a low chuckle hit him like a stone. He turned suddenly to Hanzo and saw him cocking an eyebrow at him, the corner of his lips tilted upwards in a swift grin. And then it was gone, the somber look back in its place – but it _had_ been there, and McCree’s heart swelled a bit.

“So ya think I’m funny, don’t you, little man? I know I am, but people usually don’t describe me as ‘ funny’ – dangerous, charming, sure, but…”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and kicked his horse’s sides, hurrying it forward. McCree shook his head with a sigh and a smile, glad the other man couldn’t see him. His face felt flushed – it had been a hell of a hot day after all – and he was sure it had nothing to do with the way Hanzo’s ponytail swayed at every step of his horse, or how the sun sent sparkles from the golden ribbon tying his hair.

_Damn you, fool. You’re giving him the eye, can’t you see?_

He lowered his hat on his brow and took his cigar from his pocket, chewing it absentmindedly.

Well of course he was _not_ – not for real, at least. Hunched on horseback he tried to look at everything but Hanzo as he caught on him, and then, eyes on the road, he saw it.

The barely visible signs of wheels on the ground.

The old McCree, the hound, the fighter, was back at once.

“Hey, Hanzo”, he called out loud, voice hard and steady. The archer gave him another one of his sardonic looks but turned to stone as soon as he realized how serious McCree was.

“There. This way”, and he pointed at the direction the cart presumibly went. It made sense, there was actually a cave a couple of miles from where they stood, and it wouldn’t have been the first time some bandits found shelter in there.

His fantasies sizzled away in the sun and he clenched the reins, spurring the horse sure that Hanzo was doing the same at his side. He just _knew_ it, no need to check – he rode on his right and kept up with him, low on the horse’s neck, long hair ruffled by the wind.

It felt good. Something beyond common sense whispered him this was just what he needed, he had a partner for this quest and he was enjoying it all too much.

“It’s not far, we’ll get there by sunset and then we get your bow back, I promise, honey”.

_Wait. Did you just call him honey? Really?_

He bit on his cigar and ground his teeth, glad of the covering provided by his hat and sarape and hopeful it could hide his face.

Careful not to look at Hanzo he rode off; he tried his best to anchor himself to the taste of adventure and danger ahead, but every now and then he caught something with the corner of his eye – a sharp nose, narrowed eyes staring in the distance – and his breath hitched.

It was exilharating pushing the horses in that crazy run, the idea of retrieving the bow just an excuse to have Hanzo at his side. McCree let the thought float to the surface of his mind and didn’t even try to pretend it was not the truth.

Eventually they arrived in sight of the cave, a black mouth gaping some dozen feet off the ground in the side of one of the countless mountains in the desert, and they finally stopped. Dead trees arched in the dusk and McCree dismounted quickly, securing his horse to one of the low branches; Hanzo promptly did the same, following him when they hid behind a rock.

“Here’s our cart”, he said, pointing at the square wooden shape in front of the den. Two horses were resting at the feet of the cave, big black things with their saddles abandoned by the wheels. “And I’m pretty sure what we’re looking for is in there”.

 _We_.

That single, little word meant so much more than he’d expected, and Hanzo nodded, reigniting McCree’s doubt: did he understand his language, after all? But the question faded away, replaced by more immediate necessities.

Two horses and a cart. Six of the thugs were dead already, struck down by Hanzo’s arrows, and he had no idea how many of them could still be there. A couple of them at the very least, but he was too old and cynical to hope for a shortage of assholes.

He scanned the area and took mental note of its structure. A narrow path climbed up the side of the hill and to the hideout, and taking a long way east they could stand a chance to reach the stone canopy that looked over the cave. A good place for an ambush, he considered sitting with his back to their target and picking bullets from his belt. 

“See”, he said loading his gun, the clinking of metal barely audible in the warm air. “We go that way”, and he pointed east where the hill declined less than half a mile away. Hanzo followed his finger and agreed in silence. 

_Good boy, you’re smart. Not talkative but we understand each other nonetheless._

The last bullet found its place in the gun and McCree rolled the weapon around his forefinger, winking at Hanzo.

“We catch them from above. I can distract them and you go get your little bow, got it?”

This time Hanzo didn't offer him any sign of having listened; he was staring at the cave, eyes on fire and a muscle twitching on his jaw. He was still wearing that weird half glove on his right hand and the leather creaked when he clenched his fists.

“Angry, aren't ya? I like it”, McCree said with a hint of laughter in his voice. Or was there? His deep tones sounded a bit shaky. He puffed and banished the unexpected insecurity, gesturing at the hill with his chin.

“Fine. Let’s move, follow me and everything is gonna be alright”.

And he desperately wanted it to be so. Not that he was scared – not in the least – but the image of Hanzo getting what looked like his only property back was enough to give his legs some extra spring as they strode to the hill side.

Hurrying to their destination gave him the last confirmation he needed: in the sunset the light of a fire in the dark hole of the den gleamed feebly.

There they were. 

Everything went according to his plans, at least until they climbed the slope to the top of the hill. It was not night yet, but the sky was dark enough not to make them too easily visible; apparently the bandits weren't smart enough to put some sentinels on guard – or were they too drunk to care?

The sudden memory of the strong taste of whisky on his tongue almost drew a moan from McCree lips, but he tried to ignore the longing. Hanzo was a silent shadow on the colorless rocks, swift and stealthy as a huge black cat. It was only minutes before they got to the rocks jutting above the cave. McCree lay on his stomach and patted the ground at his side, inviting Hanzo to do the same. The archer squatted instead, one hand resting on his thigh and the other flat on the rocks.

Now more than ever was the moment to keep quiet. McCree put a finger to his lips and asked him to be still and silent – not that it was necessary, seen how concentrated and ready Hanzo looked.

That absolute focus was a riddle to him: it was as if the whole world had stopped existing in the archer’s eyes, his mind entirely invaded by the task at hand.

They stood still for a long moment, both of them listening carefully to the sounds coming from below. Hushered voices, a raucous laughter, footsteps – more than two people, for sure. McCree propped himself on an elbow and tilted his head to Hanzo.

Night was approaching quickly and the other man was a black, motionless shape; the only movement in his silhouette came from his hair and ribbon, waving in the breeze. McCree reached out and touched Hanzo’s hand, still splayed on the rocks, and felt a shock of energy bolt between them. Hanzo didn’t move, but his eyes shifted to look at him, a glimmer in the night.

Words were even more superfluous than usual. Without moving his fingers McCree knelt and took his gun; he pointed at the yet invisible bandits, at himself and, gesturing Hanzo to wait, eventually at him.

 _Lemme go first_ , he wanted to say. _I take ‘em down and then you can step in and…_

He couldn’t even finish the sentence in his head. Hanzo simply disappeared from under his hand and from his sight. He leaped to the brink of the plateau and for a split second he seemed to float mid air, before disappearing like an angry shooting star.

“You… you piece of an ass!” he hissed, but before he could even stand up a first gunshot echoed in the cave. McCree forfeited his smart plan and just loaded the gun, throwing back the sarape and running to the edge of the hill. Fuck, it was quite the jump, at least ten feet.

“Fine, then. Just _fine_ ”, he said out loud as he clenched his gun. He took a deep breath, sprung over the edge and cursed all the way downward, whirling his arms around. He landed hard, knees and ankles groaning when he hit the space in front of the cave; it took him all of his balance to stay on his feet and not lean back to the steep cliff just inches behind his heels.

Shouts, explosions – McCree lost no time complimenting himself for having still all of his bones in one piece and sharply rose his gun to take down the first enemy approaching.

Truth was, things were more complicated than he’d thought.

Hanzo _was_ a fighter. Not just an archer – althought he’d seen how skilled he was with that bow – but some sort of fury in human form, now dancing in a crowd of five people with the grace of a mountain lion. How he could kick so high to send a poor guy’s head snapping back? He was fast, a whirlwind of silk and fists – and he was a fool. McCree caught a glimpse of one of the bandits, groaning on the ground with a trail of blood running from his mouth, crawling on his four and putting a hand on his gun.

“Not so fast, dear”, he said out loud before pulling the trigger. His deadly good aim didn’t betray him and the man cried out when his wrist exploded in a bloom of red. One for him.

Hanzo was too near his opponents to grant them a clear shot, and most of all he was too fast to be a decent target. And yet he was just one, and three other bandits were still trying to best him. One of them had the bad idea of jumping on his back; Hanzo staggered when the man slung his arms around his neck and McCree shot before his common sense suggested that the risk of missing the enemy and hurting Hanzo instead was too high. But he’d never been one for common sense.

Another good one – he took the man in his thigh and couldn’t stifle a grin when he saw him drop to the ground clutching the bleeding wound.

The smell of burned gunpowder was intoxicating and McCree almost got lost in the mixture of adrenaline and pure pleasure that scent brought along. That, and the mere sight of Hanzo blocking every punch, every blow coming at him. There was grace in his movement, a lethal precision that transpired to his calm, almost serene face. As if it was not a fight for his life, but a display of his own abilities.

The realization struck him as a thunderbolt.

There was more. Hanzo was _gorgeous_ , and this was the worst moment to indulge in such triviality.

McCree blinked and took in the mayhem in front of him, suddenly unable to move. He lowered his gun a couple of inches and felt his mouth fall open.

Black hair shining in the firelight, one thick arm tensing as he grabbed the wrist of one of the last bandits and twisted it, sending the man on his knees and smashing his face with a knee, the definite curve of a shoulder peeking from his coat – everything in Hanzo was distracting him.

He was almost aware of the pile of wooden boxes at the back of the cave and the slim shape of Hanzo’s bow leaning against the wall, but not enough to be present to himself. Heart pounding for a very different kind of excitement, McCree jumped at Hanzo scream.

“ _Jesse!_ ”

The sound boomed under the low ceiling a second too late. McCree turned to the archer and saw him throw his last opponent across the room, and only luck granted him the glimpse of a movement to his left.

He fired his gun before his mind could process the bunch of sensations surrounding him. The enemy was close – too close to miss him, too close to avoid the impact of the big, hairy body of the man staggering towards him with a bleeding, scorched hole in his chest.

Reality twisted as he felt the ground crumble and give way under his feet. All he could do was turn around and let the now dead man fall down the precipice – dozens of feet of free fall into the darkness – as gravity dragged him down too, gun lost in the impact.

McCree panicked when his soles slipped on the debris and in a desperate attempt to gain some balance he lost his grip on the rocks. His hat tilted on his head as he reached out to grasp something – a non existent branch, a root sticking out, _anything_. But his fingers only met the cold night air and he knew death finally had caught up with him. Heart thumping in his ears, eyes wide to the indifferent starry sky, he went down, feet leaving the solid comfort of the rocks.

The end.

And suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore. His hand was crushed in a deadly clamp and ruthless fingers dug into his shoulder. He swung and hit the hill’s side with a _oomph_ , and everything was so maddening confused he didn’t even recognize the taste of blood on his tongue or realized that he’d been screaming until he fell silent. Panting, shaking, he looked down the void gaping at his feet – the horses looked so small from there – and then up, slowly.

Hanzo was dangling from the brim, hair coming undone and a look of absolute dread on his face. In the dim light of the fire the dragons on his arm and shoulder seemed to move over his tensing muscles. Shivers of shock ran through McCree’s body and left him panting for a second, hypnotized by the other man’s desperate stare; for a moment he could only drink in the genuine concern in Hanzo’s eyes, and then reality kicked him in the head.

His fingers found their strenght anew and he grabbed Hanzo’s hand; with a grunt he pulled up his legs and braced his feet on the rock face, easying the tension in his shoulders. In doing so his hat fell, and McCree turned briefly to watch it disappear into the night.

“Oh, damn”, he gasped, but then Hanzo snarled a very eloquent disgusted noise and McCree almost laughed. “’Kay, yer right, no time to mourn a fallen hat now, I can retrieve it later – _ugh_!”

He threw in the air his other arm and grabbed a stony outcrop; one or two steps up the cliff, with Hanzo pulling him with such strenght it hurt for real, and with a last painful effort he found himself dragged on the wonderful horizontal surface of the space in front of the cave. The coarse stone scratched his knees and elbows and McCree didn’t leave Hanzo’s hand as the archer pulled him up.

A quick search of the area reveled that the four remaining thugs were all passed out – and the one McCree shot in the leg looked pretty dead. Hanzo squeezed his hand and McCree blinked, looking at him still a bit unsure on his legs.

He steadied himself on Hanzo’s shoulders and for the time of a thought everything felt good. The warmth of soft skin under his fingertips, the strenght of muscles – _those eyes_. Fixed in his own, wide and dark and so beautiful he wanted to drown in their depths.

It began like a ripple under his palms, and then the corners of Hanzo’s mouth curled and his lashes fluttered. Laughter bubbled to his lips and McCree lost it all.

They were laughing like two kids, clinging to each other and howling in the silence. It was bliss – Hanzo’s voice was low and rumbling, resonating even with the counterpoint of McCree’s loud barking.

He was alive, and again he had this incredible man to thank for his life.

He didn’t think twice – not that overthinking was his best skill, after all – and pulled Hanzo close for a bear hug. The archer huffed and froze for a moment, and McCree wondered if he’d crossed some invisible line.

Not that he cared anymore when Hanzo wrapped his arms around his neck and laughed softly, brushing his cheek with his beard. McCree gasped at the sudden caress of his warm breath against his ear and pulled away abruptly; yet he couldn’t bring himself to take his hands off the man, and he cupped his face in his palms.

“You… you’re a bloody bastard and I owe you my life. Twice!”

It was a funny sight to behold, Hanzo’s cheeks squished and his lips slightly parted. He couldn’t stop himself: he leaned forward and placed a firm kiss on his forehead, backing away immediately after.

“Thank you”, he whispered, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. At this Hanzo smiled, a _real_ smile, sweet and almost shy, and shrugged. It was too much for McCree to bear and he felt his breath running again, not calmer than when he was dangling from the precipice.

Hanzo’d called him by his name, and the sound was something new and perfect in his memory. He only wanted to hear him speak again, to bask in the rich tones of his voice, and he didn’t even mind if he couldn’t understand a word in his language.

He ran his hand in his hair and coughed, lowering his head to hide the scorching blush on his cheeks. In doing so he remembered his hat was gone, and this brought him back to the moment.

“So – let’s check if there’s any good loot and move along before these jerks wake up”, and he gestured to the cave. Oddly enough, Hanzo nodded and turned his face, but McCree was almost sure his neck was redder than it’d used to.

They recovered the bow and some arrows, although McCree considered that Hanzo would need to restock, - and he had frankly no idea where to find arrows - and something else too. One of the bandits was wailing quietly, laying on his side and cradling his hand in his lap, but made no move to fight them.

Maybe it was McCree’s imposing presence, maybe Hanzo’s killer stare, but the man just kept on sobbing in his corner and didn’t try to stop them when they started rummaging through the crates.

Luck was on their side that night. It took the two of them quite some effort to climb down the hill with their load of stolen goods (“But we stole them from thieves, so it doesn’t really count as theft, y’know?”).

McCree was aching and sweaty when they got to the cart; he threw the huge crate he’d carried on his shoulders and a dark bottle rolled on the wooden planks.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I needed this!” He whistled and pulled the cork with his teeth, chugging a generous amount of what tasted like the worst brandy he’d ever had. Still, it was strong and it washed away the aftertaste of fear from his mouth, and his stomach warmed as the alcohol worked its magic. He wiped his lips with his fist and turned to Hanzo, offering him the bottle.

The archer accepted it with a crooked smile that made McCree catch his breath; he sipped politely and didn’t give the bottle back, but passing at his side he pressed something on the top of his head.

McCree blinked and held his hat in place – there was some dust on it and he’d missed it in the darkness. He turned to Hanzo and saw him drink while he reached the two black horses snorting gently not far from the cart.

A sigh climbed up his throat.

_I like him. Damn me, I really like him and I want him with me._

It was the worst revelation ever. They had nowhere to go, and all McCree knew of his future was that it involved taking his revenge on Reyes.

How could Hanzo fit in his plans?

He patted his pockets and found his cigar, a mere excuse to keep his mouth busy and not to revel in the memory of Hanzo’s skin under his lips.

_I suppose I will find a way. He’s alone at least as much as I am and it’ll do him no harm to have a friend in this hell._

Hanzo was busy taking the horses to the carriage and McCree shivered lightly.

_We will find a way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.  
> Thank YOU.  
> THANK YOU all for your support! I kinda like where this story is going - especially in the next chapters, where a lot of stuff is going to happen - and I'm so excited someone out there is enjoying it too!  
> Something I forgot to mention:  
> -why California? Well, I just imagined that sailing east from Japan would lead to the easternmost shores of the US, so here we are;  
> -the title comes from a Disturbed song.
> 
> As usual you can find me messing around on Tumblr too @acupofgeek
> 
> Enjoy!


	4. Look up to the stars

When they stopped for the night McCree was feeling tipsy already. He’d taken the bottle from Hanzo’s hand and helped himself liberally, easing the tension of the last few days.

They’d left the first horses at the cave (“They need rest and we found better ones, also those poor bastards you beat up might need them”) and taken their time roaming away, drinking in turns and leaning against each other. The cart was too small and Hanzo was too tired and _whatever_ , McCree didn’t care as long as he felt the definite pressure of Hanzo’s shoulder against his own.

He’d tried to stay casual, but ended up smiling too often, and he was sure the archer had noticed it, a faint curl on his lips proving McCree had given himself away.

Their loot included some still decent meat and hard bread, and even a sack of apples, and when they finally sat in front of the fire McCree felt pleasantly heavy and full.

Lying on his back, ankles crossed and his hat so low it almost covered his eyes, McCree inhaled a deep drag from his cigar and let it mix with the taste of brandy on his tongue. He puffed out a ring of smoke and smiled – how long had it been since he’d felt at peace with the world? Sure, he had to give some of the credit to the amount of alcohol he’d ingested, but there was more. Usually getting drunk provided him some much needed lack of consciousness, but the familiar weight in his chest never left him alone. Now… now something was different.

Another ring of smoke and he took the cigar from his lips; in doing so he moved back the brim of his hat, a casual gesture that allowed him to clearly see the camp. Hanzo was sitting at his side, fondly cradling his bow in his lap, eyes fixed on the flames.

McCree swallowed hard and pressed his lips together to silence a soft sigh, and Hanzo caught him; he turned to him and _stared_. Just stared, and that attention drove McCree insane. Had it been anybody else he’d snapped and demanded them to stop, but this – _this_ was Hanzo, and even if he had no idea of his motives he was secretly happy the archer was interested in him.

The bottle was just beyond his grasp and McCree wiggled his fingers without sitting up; at this Hanzo rolled his eyes but leant over and pushed it forward.

It was a mere accident, but their fingers brushed and Hanzo held his breath, quickly averting his eyes to the fire.

Suddenly McCree lost his will to drink, but did it anyway out of habit, just to mask the surge of heat rising to his face. He didn’t even bother sitting up and let brandy trickle down his throat and from the corner of his mouth. He smacked his lips and tried his best to relax, all too aware of Hanzo just beyond arm reach.

It was quiet – no, it was something more: it was _beautiful_. One of those endless nights in the desert, the sky an infinite blue canopy over the world. No moon, just stars – a splash of silver sparkles rising from the horizon and gashing across the darkness. It was enough to make any man feel small and forgotten, and McCree basked in the sensation.

Alone, and yet not lonely at all.

The mournful song of a coyote vibrated from afar, a sound so sweet and sad McCree felt a pang of melancholy in his chest.

Before he could think them twice, words formed on his lips.

“The first night I spent alone in the desert I was eleven. I – er – I succeded in my last attempt at evading from the orphanage and got lost. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, wasn’t I?” His cigar was still lit and he breathed in the deep scent of tobacco. His voice was a bit hoarser when he spoke again. “I cried myself to sleep. Never known my ma’, see, and for what I’ve been told she died when I was born – the nuns used to say I killed her – and that night I called her, hoping she could hear me wherever she was”.

Memories unrolled in his mind. He liked to think his mother was a kind, smiling woman who could have loved him well, had she been given the chance.

“I was… I was a kid. And I was so scared and so lonely and… and I ain’t that different, now. Just more beard and rage, I fear”. His head felt light and his eyelids heavy, but he kept going. Hanzo was looking at him, hands resting on his knees.

_If only you could understand… damn, I probably wouldn’t be tellin’ you anything._

“That’s when the Deadlock found me. A sick band of misfits, trust me, but… see, I never knew what being part of something meant. These bandits found me puffy eyed and snotty nosed behind a rock and didn’t kill me; they fed me and taught me how to survive”.

The embers of his cigar glowed in the shadows of his hat, and all he could see of Hanzo was his mouth, soft and slightly open.

McCree swallowed again and shook his head.

“It didn’t last long, tho. Five or six years later – I was pretty useful by then, mind you, but had no idea of what discipline was – Gabriel Reyes found our lair. He… he killed them all. Minus one”, and pointed at himself with his thumb. His hand was shaking a bit.

Reyes. Gabe, for him, for ages, the closest thing to a friend or a father he’d ever had in his life.

Bitterness sunk in his tone.

“I had a chance. ‘Come with me or rot in jail, kiddo’, and I’ve always been smart enough to recognize an opportunity when I see one. And so I became one of his men”. The heat burned his fingers as he smoked what little was left of the cigar’s butt, so then he threw it in the flames with a flick of his forefinger. “Good days – learning how to mantain order, how to work for the people. And then war came”.

War. Four years of Southern states battling their Northern brothers, a good cause – freedom for everyone, no matter the color of their skin – poisoned by greed and stubborness.

A disease that had infected Reyes, too.

“He used to be a good man. Reyes, I mean, but then something changed. He started to become ruthless, to… to… well, it was a fucking mess. He bribed and… and killed whoever opposed him and seeked power. You know how war is, don’t you, Hanzo? Business for the clever ones and shit for the others”.

He crossed his hands behind his head and stared at the night sky. Hanzo’s eyes were on him, but he couldn’t find the guts to reciprocate the stare.

“Turned out I rooted for the _others_. For the poor people caught in the crossfire of Reyes’ ambitions and the cannons of the Confederation, and I… I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I ran away”.

It was the alcohol speaking, for sure; McCree recognized its familiar thickness in his voice, but most of all that unwanted, utter sincerity emptying him of everything but the need to spit out the truth. He shut his eyes and breathed through his nose in a feeble attempt to calm his heart, buti t didnt work.

A fugitive and a coward, wasting his last ten years running from Reyes’ wrath and working for whoever had enough money to efford the best gunslinger in the West. He’d been proud of his skills, but now he just didn’t care anymore – no friends, no purpose, just day after day of survival and self deprecation.

Something shifted at his side and McCree startled. Hanzo was now lying near him, fingers interlaced on his stomach and eyes glimmering in the flames.

McCree suddenly couldn’t breathe or think clearly – and this time it was hard to blame it on the brandy alone. How could he look away from that sharp, elegant profile painted golden by the fire? Hanzo felt warm and real against his side, a living temptation and a silent offering of comfort.

“I’m tryin’, Hanzo. I’m really tryin’, but I have no clue ‘bout how to be a good person. I wish… man, I don’t know, maybe I just wish you could understand me, but then you might despise me for what I am and…”

He shook his head – it spun a little, and for once he didn’t like that vague dizziness – and nestled closer, not minding if it made him look pathetic. He was past the point to care.

Hanzo didn’t shrink away and moved his head, now resting on McCree’s shoulder.

_What’s happening? Is this… is this real? Is this supposed to be normal?_

All he knew was that Hanzo’s hair was soft against his cheek, his body a heavy, hot weight anchoring him to the world. He breathed out loud and leaned closer to Hanzo’s head, and for a moment they did nothing but exist. And it was enough – sharing the burden of his past without any judgement, enjoying the proximity of someone he was learning too quickly to respect and something more.

After a while Hanzo shivered slightly in the cool night air and McCree, already slipping away into something similar to sleep, roused and wriggled about, unrolling his sarape. He threw it on them both, suppressing a giggle when Hanzo snuggled closer against his shoulder with a heavy sigh.

He wanted to move, to squeeze his arm under Hanzo’s shoulder and hold him close, but everything about him felt heavy and too comfortable to break the spell. So he just sighed contented and looked up to the sky.

“The stars”, he whispered as Hanzo relaxed against him, getting warmer and warmer as sleep crawled upon him. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

And the stars were the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes. The lonely coyote was still howling his despair at the skies and Hanzo grumbled something that got lost in a giant yawn.

There was going to be a time for vengeance and for hunting, a time for violence and payback, but not now.

McCree sighed and smiled, and for the first time in very long he felt safe.

Night wrapped around them and took all his nightmares away.

 

McCree woke up at dawn, with a piercing headache and a very confused idea of where he was and why his head was throbbing like that. He tried to open his eyes in the grey dusk, failed and moaned – yes, that brandy was definitely the worst he’d ever had.

Other sensations floated to the surface of his consciousness as he woke for good, most prominently a soft tickling under his chin. Sleep and unease popped like a bubble and McCree was suddenly aware of everything: Hanzo’s head tucked under his chin, black hair brushing his collarbone, a thick tattoed arm cirling his waist.

He froze. He remembered everything of last night – not that there was much to remember, except for the unexpected sense of closeness that brought him to pour his story on Hanzo, and Hanzo to lay by his side.

 _Not_ much _, yer sayin’? A liar as usual, McCree…_

He needed to move but didn’t want to. Hanzo felt so good his heart was about to burst from his chest. All McCree wanted was to touch his face, to tuck that loose strand dangling on his forehead behind his ear – and yet he didn’t want to wake him up. The archer looked at peace, even with the shadow of the bruise still darkening his cheekbone; there was no trace of the constant struggle McCree had seen in his eyes, something that tasted like sadness and regret. Something he knew all too well.

He lost himself in the turmoil that the mere gesture of looking at him sent through his body. And the more he looked, the more he realized his heart was not the only thing leaping at the sight of the slice of chest and abdomen peeking from Hanzo's clothes.

Tranquillity changed into something less comfortable and McCree squirmed a bit, unable to block the train of thoughts - containing lots of Hanzo and very little clothes - rolling through his head. Hanzo perceived his recklessness and moved on his chest, his hand lightly stroking McCree's side.

McCree held his breath and kept his eyes on the opaline sky, a wordless prayer for self control on his lips.

The caress stopped as quickly as it had started and Hanzo stiffened; when he raised up his head to look at McCree his eyes were startled, his face flushed.

_Look at how pretty he is..._

With a smile, probably not as light-hearted as he'd meant it to be, McCree tipped his hat.

"Howdy, darlin'? Am I cozy enough as a pillow?”

Hanzo gritted his teeth and sat up; his hair was a tangle, half undone from its ponytail and sticking to his cheek, his eyes still sleepy. A perfect morning face, and McCree adored everything about that disheveled look.

He almost sighed dreamily but at the last moment collected himself and stretched, and his jaws clicked when he yawned with a roar. When he got back to this world, ruffling his beard and rubbing his eyes with his other hand, Hanzo had moved. He was sitting and turned his back on him, hands clanched in his lap so tight his forearms were shaking. Such a change of mood worried McCree.

"What... honey, are ye alright? I know that booze I gave you was worse than horse piss and turpentine but..."

Concern leaked through his tone and made the meaning of his words clear even beyond the language barrier between them. When McCree put a hand on Hanzo's shoulder the archer didn't pull away; he tensed for a second and didn't look at McCree, but eventually nodded briefly and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

McCree knew that he had to leave him, that his touch had only meant to call his attention, but he just loved how his thumb seemed to fit on the tiny bump of bones at the base of Hanzo's neck. His skin was warm and smooth, and he was a fool.

With a muttered curse he dropped his arm - a gesture met by Hanzo's sudden, almost disappointed stare, if McCree's eyes weren't tricked by his own desires - and sprung to his feet.

There were things to do, the first one in the list being take a much deserved piss against the rocks, and after that finding a destination. He felt calmer when some time later he took an apple from the sack.

"Hey, Hanzo!" he called him, mostly for the sheer pleasure of saying his name. The other man, busy tying back his hair, turned to him; McCree threw him the apple and Hanzo, one hand still holding his ponytail in place, grabbed it with a shot of his fingers.

"Nice one", said McCree with another smile. Damn, he was smiling way too much around that guy...

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and bent in a mocking bow - and yet somehow he managed to turn the gesture into something graceful and dignified. He bit the apple and held it with his teeth, swiftly tying the ribbon before allowing himself to take an actual mouthful and chew.

McCree felt a faint note of disappointment, and it wasn't long before he realized that he'd been waiting to see Hanzo with his hair down.

_I'm done. Too much sun on my skull and too many punches, I'm going insane._

He did his best to be the usual, pragmatic McCree and fed the horses; they were good beasts, sure stolen from someone wealthy enough to efford such fine steeds.

Waking up cuddled to Hanzo had been a pleasant distraction, but the previous night's confessions had brought back his only goal.

_Reyes._

All his childish good humor evaporated and his head ached more than ever; he pressed the heel of his palms to his eyesockets and let the dark turn red and purple under the pressure. He heard Hanzo moving behind him but took a moment to ignore him in favour of his plans.

Very foggy, confused plans.

He bumped his forehead to one of the horses' side and puffed.

Salinas was at least four days away, and confronting Reyes in the town he was supposed to be controlling as a sheriff was a bad idea even for someone like him, who reveled in bad ideas. He breathed in the musky, lively scent of the horse and let it clear his mind. It kind of worked, because as he ran his fingers through the animal's fur he felt calmer.

On the way back to Salinas there were a couple of outposts, little more than clusters of shacks living out of stubborness and the despair of travelers in need for a blacksmith or a pint. And more often than not there were questionably moral individuals more than willing to share informations in exchange for some coin - or lead, if they felt bold enough to take their chance with McCree. One of those individuals in particular was a reknown source of gossip and more serious news - expensive, dangerous, but reliable.

He straightened his back and took a deep breath; still patting the horse he looked at Hanzo, crouched on the ground counting the scant dozen of arrows still left in his quiver.

"Worry not, sweetie: I'm pretty sure we'll fine someplace to restock. And maybe something else too".

He felt himself again when they rode off; he had to credit the last drops of brandy he'd drunk for breakfast but there was something else, too.  
First: he knew where they were going and who they were going to meet, and hopefully this would have put them on the way to Reyes.

Second - and this voice in his mental list was something he wish he didn't care so much about - Hanzo was still with him.

 

Too small to be a town and not useful enough to deserve a name, The Crossroads emerged in the dusty heat a couple of days later. McCree was tired - although he'd enjoyed too much spending the nights rolled by the fire with Hanzo snuggled close to share the warmth - and dirty, sweat and dust caking his hair, his beard definitely out of control. Hanzo, on the other hand, still looked fresh from the laundry, despite the patches on his puffed pants and the dark splotch of blood on his shirt.

It was midday when the reached the inn, a dismal building with its red paint flaking in the sun and a couple of horses resting at the fence.

“Madame LaCroix runs the place. I’d suggest you let me do the talk but…” McCree got off the wagon and took off his hat with a grin. “Well, let’s say it’s a good thing yer not a chatty guy, Han”.

Hanzo followed him in, casting suspicious looks all around as he entered the poorly lit saloon. McCree patted the front pocket of his vest and some of the money they’d looted in the past days sang happily. Better be clear and show that they were not trash, and even better show the sparse customers that there was iron at his side, and not just gold in his pockets.

A long, dusty counter sported an assortment of even dustier bottles, mostly half empty and entirely too old to be considered alcohol and not poison. Still, a pair of raggedy-looking men were drinking in the shadows, sitting far apart at the opposite sides of the saloon. McCree gestured Hanzo to a corner table, where they sat in silence for a while, listening to the muffled compilation of sounds coming from the old house – clinking of dishes from the back of the counter, creaking of wood from above, giggles and moaning coming from one of the rooms upstairs. The latter turned Hanzo to stone, a very red, tight-lipped stone; McCree snorted a soft laughter from his nose and leaned back to the chair, tilting it backwards and putting his feet on the table with a _thud_.

“Yeah, er… Amélie has a couple of girls for this kind of things. That’s one of the reasons this place’s still in business, y’know? Been here once or twice in the past, Reyes really fancied the lady and…”

“Reyes, you said?”

A rough voice rose from one of the two other customers, a huge man who looked like a pig with a round face and a grimace all rotten teeth and plump lips.

“How come you know the man?” he asked, and before his chair was done scratching the dirty floor as he got up Hanzo’s fist clenched on his bow. McCree’s face didn’t alter but his hand closed on the archer’s, squeezing it lightly.

Beyond danger and thrill something shone bright – _don’t let him go, hold his hand, that’s what you want, you fool of a McCree_ – but McCree forced himself to shut that little voice out of his head. He ran a tentative thumb on Hanzo’s knuckles, a casual gesture that caused a choking sound, and this made him smile even more. He put his hat back on his head and crossed his ankles on the table.

“None of your business, sweetpea”, he grumbled. The stranger approached with a menacing pace, his big fists cracking at his sides, and Hanzo tensed. McCree shook his head just once and the shadow of the man fell on the table.

“Well might as well be my own fuckin’ business too, ‘cause Reyes told everyone to keep an eye out for…”

“… for travel-worn poor sods lookin’ for some rest and whisky? Must be a hell of a boring time for Gabe if he sends his minons out on such trivial quests”. At this he could clearly hear Hanzo mutter something in his own language and, even without looking at him, McCree was sure he’d rolled his eyes.

A big, fat hand slammed on the table.

“Off with your bullshit, you mutt! Now yer tellin’ me why you call the sheriff by name and what business you have with him or…”

McCree barely moved. Feet still perched on the table, hat low on his brow, he simply let his free hand do its job, as countless times in the thirty-seven years of his life.

“Or?”

The wood and metal of his Colt were familiar and reassuring in his palm, the muzzle pressed against the stranger chin probably less so. McCree let his thumb press the hammer and the click caused the man to gulp loud.

“Darlin’, I don’t like when people tell me what to do. Yer lucky you ran into me head first and not my friend here”, he tilted his head to Hanzo, whose hand twitched under his palm. “He’s way more short tempered than me”. He pushed harder and the fat under the man’s jaw gave way to the metal of his gun. “Now, I strongly suggest you step back and go back to your drink like the fine gentleman I’m sure you are”.

“Please, no. Who… who are...”

McCree cooed at the man, now deadly pale and with his hands in the air.

“Hush, hush… you ask too many questions. An’ I’m pretty sure yer not really interested in my…”

“Jess McCree? _Mon dieu_ , weren’t you supposed to be dead by now?”

Both McCree and Hanzo turned to the source of the voice – warm and rich, with a heavy French accent; the stranger man, still babbling and begging, stepped back very slowly and no one stopped him.

Behind the counter a pale woman, long dark hair tied high above delicate and ruthless features, was staring at them. In her green eyes there was no trace of emotion, but a thin smile curled her lips as she approached the table, hips swaying under her flounced skirt.

“Amélie, my dear, I’m damn hard to kill. You should know it very well – and maybe inform Reyes, too”. McCree put his gun on the table and landed his chair with a bang. He took off his hat again and looked at the woman with a smirk.

Amélie threw her hair back and took a seat with Hanzo and him, her heels ticking on the floor. As her big eyes moved on Hanzo something hardened on her face.

“Who’s this man?”

“Friend o’mine”, replied McCree quickly. The archer’s nose scrunched in distrust, but he bowed to Amélie nonetheless. “He doesn’t speak our language but he saved my life and now he’s with me”.

“Many things can be said about you, cowboy, but even I must admit you have good taste”. At this McCree felt his face heat up, and for all his efforts not to look at him he heard Hanzo let out the soft gasp he couldn’t control. Doubt and curiosity prodded him in the side but he ignored them, focusin on Amélie instead. The woman crossed her legs and drummed her long fingers on the table. “I was not joking, McCree: I heard you’d been hanged some days ago for…”

“… for that bullshit in Salinas, aye”. He picked his cigar from his pocket and patted his sides to find some fire, but Amélie smacked her lips and offered him an already flaming match. McCree thanked her with a bow of his head and breathed in quickly to lit up the tobacco. “Mh. Thank you, darlin’…”

“Don’t call me that”.

“Yeah, sorry, always forget yer not like the other girls here – she’s the boss, Han”, and elbowed the other man with a wide grin, but Hanzo was too busy looking at Amélie with a deadpan serious face. “And more important, she’s one of Reyes’. Or at least she was the last time I checked?”

With this he went back to Amélie, serious. The woman clasped her hands in front of her and leaned closer.

“What do you want, McCree?”

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

“Nothing special: a room for the night, something to wash the dirt from our throats and Reyes’ hideout”.

His voice had dropped in tone and the woman was no fool to ignore it. She narrowed her eyes and suddenly looked dangerous. McCree knew her well enough to be fully aware it was not just an impression.

“Why should I give it to you?”  
“Because I can pay. Good coin, and the wagon you see outside too, if you want it. We don’t need it anyway, we’re keepin’ the horses tho”.

Amélie looked at him; she was so close now he could smell her perfume, something strong and sweet, almost like a poison.

“You’re going after Gabe, aren’t you?”

“I’m a simple man, you know me”.

“He’s not hiding, of course, he’s the fucking sheriff – have you tried Salinas?”

“Do I look like someone tryin’ to get killed?”

“Yes, you do”.

McCree laughed and ruffled the hair on the back of his neck.

“Fair enough. No, I’m not goin’ back to Salinas for now, but I’d like to inform Gabe that his plan to hang me for a crime I didn’t commit didn’t turn out as he’d planned. So if you’re willin’ to tell me where I could find him to deliver him the news…”

Something moved at the back of the room and both McCree and Hanzo turned around; the fat customer stopped halfway his attempt at helping himself at the counter and, without lowering his hands, he went back at his chair.

“… or shall I wait for you to inform him I’ve been here, so he can come and find me?”

Amélie put a slender hand at his chest and batted her long lashes in a pantomime of outrage.

“Do you really think I would do that?”

“No, Amélie, I _know_ for sure you will. He’s been payin’ you for fifteen years now and I know how strict you are on your working routine”.

At this Amélie laughed softly, running a finger on McCree’s cheek. Hanzo snarled but didn’t move, and McCree had a very good excuse for the blush creeping up his face. Again.

“Such a nice boy you are… you won’t find our mutual friend in Salinas, he’s out and about for some troubles near Soledad. Wanting to buy places people don’t want to sell, you know how things go…”

“Yeah, I know”, he replied shortly, all his charm crumbling as memories haunted him once again.

_I know because I used to be one of those who did the dirty job for him. But not anymore._

Bitterness poisoned his heart and he lowered his head, breathing in smoke to hide his moment of weakness.

The unexpected touch on his thigh made him shiver; Hanzo was not looking at him, dark eyes on Amélie, but his hand was on his leg, firm and strong.

He almost dropped his cigar – what was that? A warning? A display of support? He didn’t know and actually didn’t care, because something deeper and louder that the current concern for Reyes simply wished that contact could last forever.

McCree coughed and puffed out some smoke, back to Amélie.

“Fine. Soledad, then, but I guess it’ll take him less time to find me than for me to find him, since you’re always so accurate in your reports…”

“You flatter me”. Amélie stood up and smoothed some invisible wrinkles from her skirt. “I’m glad we got to speak clearly. For this – _and_ your money, _and_ your cart – you can have a quiet night at the inn”. The words fell on the saloon and the two other customers tried to shrink in their seats. McCree knew Amélie was merciless and often cruel, but business is business, and she was never going to let anyone interfer with her.

At the counter she looked at McCree from above her shoulder.

“It’s up to you. You surprised me, _mon cher_. And for this I shall return the thrill with another little surprise. It’s on the house, but first do the whole world a favour, McCree”. She turned her back to the hall and waved her hand. “Take a bath”.

Only after her slender figure had disappeared in the back McCree allowed himself to breath in relief. He smacked his hat back on his head and, as he moved, realized that Hanzo’s hand was still on his thigh.

He didn’t want him to leave and at the same time he feared that moving could be misinterpreted as annoyance, so he did the first thing that crossed his mind: he put his hand on Hanzo’s and patted it gently.

“See? Better than expected. I’d give my left arm to see the look on Reyes’ face when he’ll get the news!”

And here he was again, getting lost in Hanzo’s eyes. His fingers moved on their own and wrapped around the archer’s palm – damn, he was distracting. The way his lips parted as if to speak, the faint pink on his cheeks, the strong line of jaw and neck… McCree forgot what he was about to say and blinked.

“I… er… I…”

The bang of a door broke the tension. Hanzo drew his hand back and McCree huffed, looking at the old laborer walking up the stairs with a pair of steaming buckets in his hands.

“So – yeah, we have a room”, and he pointed upstairs. Hanzo was a bright shade of pink and was clearly trying to look anywhere but at McCree, who seized the opportunity and stood up, putting his gun back at his belt.

“But Amélie is right, I smell worse than my horse, so if we are to…”

_Share a bed. A real bed, and without the excuse of stayin’ close to each other against the cold._

“A bath. I need a bath, and something to drink. Hey there, mate”, he called the fat man in the corner, who reacted by closing his eyes and covering his face with his hands. McCree chuckled and tossed him a couple of coins from his pocket. “No need to worry for now. But do me a favour and buy my friend something strong, wouldn’t ya?”

He didn’t wait for a reply and took the stairs, shooting one last stare at Hanzo. The archer was flushed and was biting his lower lip – and McCree had no explainations for that behaviour.

He walked the splintered steps to the small upper floor; only one of the three doors was creaked open, and from the nearest the moaning sound was gone. Luckily for him.

“Here”, called the old man he’d seen before from that single free room, and McCree entered. Nothing special about it – a bed, clean, if a bit tattered, a single chair and a tub filled with hot water. It was big enough he could sit on its bottom and he immediately started to take of his clothes. His hat landed on the bed when the man left him with a grunt.

“They’re almost done, you go ahead clean up and then I’ll tell Madame to send them here”, and he closed the door.

There was no need for him to ask what he was talking about, but as he unbuttoned his shirt he found out he didn’t mind. Worse, the idea of two stranger women in his personal space was oddly unnerving.

He toed off his boots and removed his pants, and as he entered the tub he felt a shiver of pure pleasure soak his skin with the hot water. For some minutes he allowed himself not to think at all, rinsing away days of fatigue and sweat from his skin and banishing Reyes from his mind. Sure, his gun was at arm’s reach and in the immediate future he didn’t expect anyone to attempt at his life, but he was smart enough not to expect Amélie’s lair to be a safe place.

What he _did_ expect, however, was not to be left alone for long. Still, when the door creaked his hand moved switfly to his belt.

He didn’t even get to touch the hammer and Hanzo appeared on the threshold. McCree relaxed suddenly and let his arm drop at his side; he sat up in the tub and some water poured on the floor.

“Hey there, done drinkin’ already?” he tried to joke, but his voice betrayed him. Hanzo closed the door behind him and simply stepped to the center of the room; without taking his eyes off McCree he sat on the floor, legs folded under his body and hands resting on his thighs.

Suddenly McCree felt weak – worse even, he felt _vulnerable_. It had nothing to do with being naked, with just a splash of water hiding his body from Hanzo’s eyes; on the contrary, that look seemed to light something beneath his skin, and he found himself breathing hard through his nose.

_Not the only hard thing, here._

The thought formed in his mind and he didn’t move, despite the enthusiast reaction of his body.

No, he felt exposed, and it scared him. Hanzo couldn’t help but glance at him – broad shoulders and pale scars on sunburnt skin, his hair dripping on his forehead – and his dark eyes were piercing the very fabric of his soul.

And then the truth hit him like a fist.

_I want you._

McCree scanned his brain to find something to say, but Hanzo filled every space of his being. Passionate, serious, fists closing on the black silk of his pants and a muscle twitching on his jaw, he looked like he was about to say something but he had no words to express himself.

All McCree could do was look back at him and allow him to see it all – the desire, the confusion, the blood running wild in response to the gorgeous man in front of him.

It was not the first time, really, he was not a kid anymore and he’d had more than his share of lovers, but this time he felt as if he could burst out of his skin.

Hanzo opened his mouth as if to speak and instead his tongue darted out between white teeth to lick his lips. McCree sighed out loud and wished he could move – stand up, close the distance between them and…

The door opened again, causing both men to startle and look at the two scantly clad women entering the room.

“Madame didn’t tell us it was going to be such a fun afternoon”, said the first one; her lipstick was smudged at the corner of her mouth and her ginger hair was as dishevelled as the black locks of her companion, now closing the door with a giggle.

“Er… yeah, your boss told something about… _this_ ”. McCree’s smile was stretched, his head blank. The two girls were more than attractive, young and with perfect skin, their corsets doing very little to cover their bodies. The redhead slid behind him and sat on the  bed, running her fingers through McCree’s damp hair.

“Sometimes it’s good to have a change from the usual old relics that attend this place”, she whispered into his ear. A light hand tickled his chest and dipped down, disappearing under the water. “Honey! Already?” she asked palming McCree’s erection.

Too much. He tensed and grabbed her wrist, firmly but not so much it could hurt her. Hanzo, in front of him, stood motionless as the black haired girl tried to sit in his lap; when her small, dark hand ran on his tattoos and searched for a way under his garment he shook his head and gripped her shoulder.

“What? Didn’t you pay for this?” she asked, frowning.

“No. I mean, not really”. McCree tried to smile at her as he eased the ginger woman back. “Sorry, sweetie, but…”

Her red lips pouted.

“Beg you pardon? Are we not pretty enough for you?”

“Wait! No, not at all! It’s just that…”

Hanzo moved the girl from his lap and held her as he stood up. He looked at McCree again and there was a whole world of need and longing in his eyes, something McCree wanted to explore even if it was dangerous and painful.

“Look, if you wanted Madame there’s no way she would…”

“What? Oh, for fuck’s sake, I care too much about my own life to risk it that way!”

“Then where’s the problem, cowboy? You two look like you really need to ease some tension”, and she leaned on McCree shoulder. He could feel her breasts on his back, warm and soft, and another time he’d have enjoyed the sensation. But now, with Hanzo in front of him, so desperate and beautiful, all he wanted was to erase the world and have him all for himself.

Hanzo’s broad shoulders slumped as he removed the girl’s hands from his arms and gently pushed her back. He gave McCree a last stare and walked away, not even minding closing the door.

His light steps faded in the distance and the girl on McCree laughed softly.

“Consider yourself lucky, twice the fun all for yourself”. Her breath was sweet against his skin, and he just couldn’t stand it.

“Pity, tho. I liked him”, said her friend, still looking with an air of mild disappointment at the empty door.

McCree stood up and forgot shame – after all these two women were even too used at having naked people about. Water splashed around him as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips.

“M’ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt you but… no. Not today, I fear, but I’ll make sure Madame will pay you nonetheless”. He stepped out of the tub, heart thundering in his chest, and shook his head.

“Really?” The dark haired girl looked baffled; she leaned on the wall and sighed, looking at McCree from head to toe. “What a waste…”

“Are ye tryin’ to make an old man blush? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if ye keep lookin’ at me that way. But truth is, I really appreciate your – well – your _appreciation_ but…”

“But you’re not the only one who fancies the dragon man, Wren”. The red head woman stood up and patted her skirt. “Am I right?”

McCree didn’t even bother to answer. He quickly put his pants on, ignoring the frustrated stares and turning his back to the ladies as he buttoned them up – something that required him a good amount of caution, considering his level of arousal.

“Yeah – er – whatever”, and he jumped on one feet, trying to fit his the other into one of his boots. “If you don’t mind…”

“You know what, Giselle? There’s no justice in this world. Madame Amélie will laugh her ass off when we tell her”.

McCree frankly doubted that cold, dispassionate Amélie LaCroix could ‘laugh her ass off’ about anything, but better safe than sorry.

“Don’t. I know that discretion is part of your job, _mesdamoiselles_ , so… please don’t?” He slid one arm into his shirt and smiled. It worked: Wren sighed and Giselle chuckled, tucking a black curl behind her ear.

“Maybe you two will change your mind by sunset. In that case, you’ll know where to find us”.

McCree buckled his belt, grabbed his hat and performed his most gallant curtsey, blowing a kiss to the girls while already by the door.

Water trickled from his neck and under his still half undone shirt as he jumped down the stairs.

The front door was still swinging in its hinges and the two customers were in their respective corners, careful to look anywhere but at McCree.

He clenched his fists and set his shoulders straight, marching with light head and heavy steps, but as he slammed the door open and the sun dazzled him he found no trace of Hanzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never thank you all enough for your support!  
> When I first started writing this story I seriously doubted I could produce more than a handful of messy words, panicking to get a grip on a language I'm familiar-but-not-really with. I'm so, so grateful for your appreciation!  
> Let me know if this kind of formatting makes the chapter easier to read.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I noticed it just now but the AMAZING @nickutried made this AMAZING (yeah I already said that but COME ON IT'S AMAZING FOR REAL) art and I'm overwhelmed.
> 
> It's at the end of chapter 3 and here's the link:  
>  http://nickutried.tumblr.com/post/158212474202/warmup-sketch-from-chap-3-of-acupofgeeks-who
> 
> THANK YOU SOME MORE


	5. Say my name once again

McCree walked around the building with his head spinning and the blaze of sun burning his face.

He didn’t know what to do, let alone what to say – words were not his strongest suit – but he was sure he _needed_ Hanzo. There was something pending between them, and he just couldn’t live on if he didn’t make things clear.

Whatever such _things_ were.

There was a small stable at the back of the saloon, now taken by a single palomino horse resting with its head low. It was a dark, cozy place, filled with the smell of hay and animals. McCree leant to the front door and sighed loudly, heart still bumping in his throat.

He heard no sound of hooves and was pretty sure Hanzo hadn't left for good, and yet…

_Why have you stormed out like that? I need to know – I need to understand if I made one mistake too much and spoiled everything._

Something moved in the darkness and before McCree could react he found himself pinned to the wooden wall. Hanzo’s hands were clutching his shirt, shaking. He was a good seven inches shorter than McCree but strong enough to push him back, lifting him on his feet with a snarl.

A wolf. That man was a goddamn wolf, bared teeth and narrowed eyes and black hair framing his sharp face. McCree searched the pit of his mind for something to say – a witty retort, a joke, anything his old self would have resorted to. He found nothing, just the rumble of blood in his ears.

Hanzo was more than near. He pushed against him and McCree felt it all. The heaving of his chest, warm breath on his lips – with a faint whiff of alcohol – and his hands, his hands twisting the fabric of his old shirt as if to tear it apart.

Hunger. Despair. And maybe McCree was a delusional fool, but what shone into the depths of Hanzo’s eyes looked so much like the same desire that lit his own body. As if in a dream he lifted his hand and stroked the loose strand of hair brushing Hanzo’s cheekbone. Silk and fire ran through his fingers as he pushed it back behind his ear, the gesture turning into a slow caress down Hanzo’s beard and neck.

_Say something!_

But he couldn’t, and what good could it do to him? They were beyond words, had always been, and yet he felt a world of significance in that silence they shared. Hanzo hissed something he couldn’t understand and pressed harder, and when his thigh brushed his crotch McCree let out a strangled gasp. The rythmic throbbing from his erection rose to his head and his eyes fluttered close, his hand clasping the nape of Hanzo’s neck.

He did it again, a deliberate rocking of his hips that had McCree throw his head back against the wood with a moan. Hanzo’s fists loosened and McCree felt his knees go weak, something that got even worse when those same hands shifted down his chest and beyond his waist, resting lightly on the definite buldge straining his pants.

The sudden absence of Hanzo’s body felt like going adrift in the tide. McCree blinked and surprise drew a soft sound from his lips as he realized what Hanzo’s fingers were doing. Swift, frantic, they unfastened his belt and his buttons, and McCree had barely the time to catch his breath. Hanzo was on his knees, mouthing at his erection through the rough fabric of his pants.

“Oh, fuck”, he whispered, the back of his head hitting the wall. He squirmed about to let his pants drop down his hips, and the first stroke of Hanzo’s tongue on his cock almost made him choke. Unexpected and beyond the realm of his own dreams – a long, slow sweep up his shaft, and with a groan Hanzo swallowed half of his lenght.

McCree’s eyes were enraptured by the sight. Wet, pink lips closed around him, a glistening defiant look daring to stop him, to say it was not what they both had wanted. He saw his own fingers rise and touch Hanzo’s cheek, a quivering gesture that turned to a spasm when he started to move. The small flicks of tongue against his oversensitive skin were already too much for his self control and McCree grabbed Hanzo’s head, steadying himself to him and resisting the urge to push further, deeper.

Fingers dug into his legs, strong and almost painful and it all felt so good – _too good_. He couldn’t keep still and started to move, slow, tentative thrusts that Hanzo welcomed by sinking lower. It could have been enough – he could have gotten off just by drowning into that stubborn determination, eyes watering as the thrusting in his mouth grew harder and made him gag. McCree groaned and tried to pull back, a pang of regret at the mere thought of hurting him, but Hanzo’s palm wrapped tight around his cock and thoughts stopped having any sense at all.

Surrounded by the smooth heat of Hanzo’s mouth, his fingers working swiftly on his lenght, McCree bit his lip to stifle any sound that could have given them away. Not that he cared: over the quiet snorts of the horse the air was filled with throaty, wet sounds.

 _They might see us. They_ will _see us._

The realization magnified his arousal. He dug his fingers into Hanzo’s hair and clenched his fist, his lower lip pulsating between his teeth as he rolled his hips with every twitch of tongue against the head of his cock, with every brush of skin against skin.

Eyes locked on Hanzo’s, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the eager look on his face, a delicate flush painting his high cheekbones. He slowly pushed further, and what little was left of his self control was stripped away by the muffled, furious groan resonating against his flesh.

Tension started to build in his body, his chest oppressed by a breath too deep and too long he was not able to release. McCree tried his best not to close his eyes, even when his nerves seemed to catch fire as pleasure washed away every restraint. He almost whimpered when the pulse grew faster – there were tears on Hanzo’s lashes, a small twitch in his lips as McCree thrust deeper and harder and _Fuck, fuck I’m so close…_

Everything shattered. His mind, his voice as he struggled to muffle an undignified roar by the fist he pressed to his mouth, his body crumbled to pieces and he came with a shudder. He just couldn’t control his muscles anymore and his cock throbbed desperately in Hanzo’s mouth, the world went dark and weird, all collapsed around the perfect sensation of tongue and lips contracting one last time as he swallowed.

McCree got back on Earth with a wordless grunt and slid back against the wall. He blinked wildly just to see Hanzo stand up and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand – and the fiery, defiant look was still in place, even if his face was flushed and his hair was coming loose.

Panting, light headed, McCree opened his mouth to speak, but all he could produce was a groan. Hanzo licked his lips – a quick, almost innocent gesture and the final nail on the coffin of McCree’s dignity – and dusted off his knees. One step back, the hint of a smile and he walked away, leaving McCree to recollect himself in the sunlit afternoon.

It took him a while to understand what had just happened. Hanzo blowing him behind Amélie’s saloon was more than enough to turn his whole world upside down, but the way he’d looked at him…

McCree quickly buttoned up his pants and dropped to the ground, legs splayed and spurs clinking.

The corners of his mouth curled in a wild smirk and he threw his head back, confusion and a trail of desire blending into one.

The horse turned his muzzle and tried to graze his hat; McCree swatted at the animal with a snort of laughter and ended up patting the soft nose absentmindedly.

“Don’t ask me what has just happened, lad, for I’m as confused as you…”

Somewhere above him a window slammed open; McCree bolted to his feet and looked up to see a flash of red hair disappear behind the windowsill.

“ _Told you so, Wren_ ”, he heard in a fit of giggles.

He pressed his hat on his head and cursed between his teeth, desperately trying to ignore the fire burning under his cheeks.

He needed to be off as soon as possible; the very idea of spending the night at Amélie’s was suddenly unbearable and he didn’t mind if the journey was going to be hard.

 

Less than one hour later McCree was closing his saddle bags, filled with all the food and supplies he managed to snatch from the wagon. Not to his surprise, Hanzo was ready and waiting for him, the mischief still heavy in his gaze.

“You trust me so little, McCree?” Amélie was leaning against the doorframe, her cold eyes glimmering with threat. “I’m not hiding Reyes under my skirt”.

“I sure hope so, my dear”, he replied without looking at her. He patted the bag and adjusted his sarape around his shoulders, tucking his boot in the stirrup. “Although it could be pretty hilarous to see Gabe peek from under your petticoat”. He grabbed the pommel and lifted himself on the saddle. Squirming to get comfortable he gave Amélie a last nod and rolled the reins around his fist.

The woman grimaced and waved him scornfully.

“Go then. And next time you’re offered a room for you and your dragon friend make the most out of it”.

At this Hanzo coughed and set off, followed closely by McCree.

The Crossroads turned to a small cluster of toy houses behind them, and for most of the long, hot afternoon they rode in complete silence.

Every once in a while McCree turned to his partner, and he always found he was staring at him with a quizzical look in his eyes.

Chewing on his cigar he tried to focus on the road – a red, dusty ribbon unfurling in front of them. Soledad was not far, but there was no way they could reach it by sunset; another night together, then, and this time things were going to be very different.

He didn’t know what Hanzo might be expecting of him. A commentary on their unseemly meeting? One of his ever backfiring compliments?

_A kiss?_

At this his hands jerked on the reins and his horse arched back his neck.

Probably that was not what Hanzo was expecting, but sure as hell it was what McCree wanted. Despite physical satisfaction the longing was still there, aching more than ever, and now everytime he looked at Hanzo he found himself at loss for words.

So they settled for a polite silence, filled to the brim with anticipation and a sublte kind of worry.

Hanzo had made his first move and now it was McCree’s time to play – only, he was kind of confused about how to approach him.

The good thing was that they were still together, and every now and then Hanzo’s knee brushed his own as they rode too near each other. With every touch came a smile from McCree’s side, and that unnerving, deep gaze from the archer’s.

They left the road before nightfall, both for caution – Reyes was going to hear about McCree’s still-alive status before long – and to find a place for the night. McCree didn’t even tell Hanzo where they were heading, but the other man followed him without flinching.

_I don’t deserve your trust._

The last few miles were a slow hike up the hills, the horses snorting and stumbling on every rock protruding from the ground. Eventually the canyon opened up to reveal a stream of water, silver and blue among red rocks.

It was a lovely, quiet place, a splash of green on the riverside brightening the barren desertic landscape. They left their horses to graze on the patch of grass and for a while they were both too busy with the little chores for the night. And yet every gesture – McCree blowing on the flames to ignite them, Hanzo spreading his bedroll on the ground – held more significance than the nights before.

It was a lazy sunset, the sky red and purple into the West, and McCree finally sat on the shore, legs crossed and his gun at his feet. He started to disassemble the weapon, heavy metal parts rolling on the ground, and he produced a bristle brush from his bag, together with a small jar of oil. He loved the whole process – it felt calming and intimate, and seeing the ashes puff from the barrel was satisfactory. More so, in this particular situation it provided him with something to do with his hands, something that didn’t require much thinking but at the same time kept him from overanalyzing everything Hanzo did.

He sat there for a while, polishing and reassembling his gun and letting his mind go still after the mess of the afternoon, and when he raised his head it was almost dark. Not as dark, though, as to miss the pile of neatly folded clothes by the fire.

McCree put his gun back in the holster and his heart skipped a beat as he looked around; the splash of water was the last confirmation he needed.

Hanzo was standing in the middle of the river, water rippling around his hips. McCree felt dizzy at the sight of a broad, muscular back shining in the dusk. Deep shadows painted black the long line down Hanzo’s spine, the dimples on the small of his back, and in the faint glow of the last rays of sunlight the dragons on his shoulder seemed to writhe and come to life. A gust of wind blew from the canyon and made raven hair and golden ribbon float mid air.

He stared – just stared for an endless moment, the wave of fire and blood rising again in his body, and then Hanzo turned around. McCree slowly opened his mouth, unable to speak or to think or to do anything but drink in the living statue in front of him. Before he could control his movement he was on his feet, the water just inches from his boots.

An owl screeched in the distance, his cry the only sound apart from the running water and the panting breath McCree couldn’t control. He was lost in Hanzo’s eyes, in every curve of his body – massive pecs and narrow waist and thick arms resting at his sides. One of said arms lifted slowly, fingers pointing at McCree in a tempting call.

McCree undressed so fast he almost stumbled in his pants, rolling them around his ankles. He pulled his shirt off without unbuttoning it and threw it behind him, and only then he came to fully understand how crazy this was. Naked, fretting like a teen, face flushed and a wide grin fighting to stretch his lips – he took one step into the river and the cool water almost sizzled against his burning skin. By the time he reached Hanzo he was hard already.

He took the hand that was being offered to him and pulled Hanzo closer, their bodies fitting so well against each other he let out a shivering sigh. A part of him screamed he should take that mouth and kiss Hanzo senseless and fuck him right there, but he took a long breath and steadied himself. He wanted him so bad it physically hurt, a shallow throbbing from his groin to all of his body, but he fought the urge and just dipped his head. His free hand ran up Hanzo’s side, drawing a light line over hard muscles and the bone crests of his hip, resting gently on the warm patch of the old, still healing wound. At this Hanzo hissed and McCree tried to pull back, but a firm hand pressed him back, hard and fast. He gasped but didn’t move, the warm skin under his palm quivering with Hanzo’s ragged breaths. His erection brushed McCree’s, heavy, a constant tease.

He smiled and loosened his fingers from Hanzo’s grip, grazing his wrist and arm, up to his shoulder and his face.

“Ain’t you beautiful…” he whispered. Hanzo leaned into his caress and hummed softly; he circled McCree’s waist with an arm and held him closer, turning into his palm and nipping at the soft bump of flesh at the base of his thumb.

McCree closed his eyes for a second and a little gasp escaped his lips. His fingers kept going, sinking deep in that glossy mass of hair.

He’d been wanting to do this for too long – a simple thing and yet so unnerving it drove him insane. His fingers felt clumsy around the slippery silk, and he was careful not to pull, not to hurt him; the knot untied slowly under his touch and the ribbon coiled in his hand. Hanzo shook his head and his hair fell to his shoulders.

He took his time stroking the loose bangs and his heart could have exploded any moment. He knew it was a torment, but tethering on the rim of their own precipice was a blessing he wanted to indulge in as long as possible. Hanzo looked glorious, something wild and dangerous and good God, he’d never wanted anything so much in his life.

Waves crashed upon their legs, the cold water in a stark contrast with the heat rising from their bodies. Time stood still and McCree savoured every moment, every little detail – how Hanzo’s lashes curved on his cheeks everytime he blinked, how his chest pressed against his own and their hearts seemed to beat at the same wild pace. And then, suddenly, Hanzo’s arms were around his neck and his lips pressed on his mouth.

The peace shattered and McCree lost it all. He squeezed Hanzo, grabbing his hips and drowning in the sensation of the tongue swirling against his own.

Hanzo tasted like the apples he’d been eating that afternoon and alcohol and something peculiar that was Hanzo and nothing else – and McCree thought that was what a thunderstorm might have tasted like. He sunk in the kiss and offered no resistance, letting Hanzo bit his lower lip and then open him up again with a slow, languid brush of tongue against his mouth. All he could do was take everything – need and frenzy and _oh God_ Hanzo’s hands were raking down his chest and abdomen, strong and calloused as they spread below his navel. He grabbed both their dicks and pressed them together, moving his fists in languorous thrusts.

McCree broke the kiss to gasp against Hanzo’s wet lips as their lenghts – hard and slick with precum – pulsated together. He buried his head in the crook of Hanzo’s neck and let his hands drop to firmly grab his ass, crushing them together and digging into the muscles tensing under his pressure. Hanzo welcomed every kiss, every bite, and sucked down hard just below McCree's ear, where neck and jaw met.

“Jesse…”

For the second time his name found its shape in that deep voice, now hoarse with passion, and McCree pulled Hanzo back with him. They clumslily walked to the shore, McCree dragging the other man and stopping too often to steal another kiss.

It was like kissing a hurricane, chaotic and powerful, and McCree submitted gladly any form of control. He turned around when he hit the rocks and laid Hanzo down, his strong hands cradling his face as he pulled him close. Their lips just couldn’t stay apart and McCree stroke down Hanzo’s thighs, spreading his legs and landing between them.

His forehead bumped on Hanzo’s and he rocked his hips, fiercely stroking his cock against Hanzo’s body until they were both gasping for air.

“God, darlin’, you… you’re perfect”, he snarled in his ear, and Hanzo made the most beautiful, agonizing sound of lust. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled McCree’s head back, lifting his hips to meet his needy thrusts.

Perfect, he said, and he meant it entirely. Hanzo’s face was shining with arousal, his hair spread like a pool of darkness around his head, and his ruthless stare turned McCree into a whimpering mess. He wriggled in Hanzo’s grasp and dropped his head to his neck – and down, leaving a trail of sucking kisses along his collarbone and all over his chest. His teeth closed on a nipple and Hanzo moaned out loud, arching his back and urging him to do it again with a shapeless command. McCree was glad to obey, licking and teasing and biting until all that existed was the friction of their flesh and the need to have more.

He nipped at Hanzo skin and felt him squirm under him, but before he could look up, worried, the archer pushed him back.

“You like it rough? Good thing”, he purred, biting down hard and leaving a red mark on his shoulder, where the elaborate inking started to paint his skin.

McCree desperately wanted him with every part of his body, and yet he felt the need to tease some more. He travelled down Hanzo’s body, feeling his stiff cock leap against his chin, and grinned wickedly. With the corner of his eye he glimpsed the oil jar and reached out to grab it. It was his turn to drive Hanzo mad with his tongue, but he could do little more than brushing his lips on the slick head of his cock before the firm grasp in his hair was back. He bolted up with a grunt, pain and desire mixing in the shock of tension in his scalp, and looked up on Hanzo’s face.

No words could have ever conveyed such a desperate need, and McCree felt weak at that silent request. Teeth gritted, eyes wide in the darkness – he wanted him.

“Your wish is my command”, he tried to jest, but his voice broke and he sunk deep into another kiss.

The jar popped open and McCree didn’t mind if the oil dripped from his shaking hand; the faint smell of herbs and olive oil rose in the air when he slicked himself and let his hand glide in the cleft of Hanzo’s ass.

Just touching his cock sent a bolt of white-hot pleasure through his skin and Hanzo noticed it, because he spread his legs further and rolled his hips, sliding over McCree’s erection with a snarl.

No more waiting, no more teasing now – he was beyond the ability to endure anything. McCree aimed and pressed firmly against Hanzo’s entrance, sighing both in relief and pleasure as he slowly slid inside.

Hanzo was still clutching his hair and he started to move, gently at first, matching the rocking of McCree’s hips in a drowsy synchrony. The tugging on his head turned into a trembling caress and McCree stopped for more kisses, breathing in the moan on Hanzo’s lips.

“Honey, you… you’re so good, so good”, he panted, and at this Hanzo’s movements grew more frantic. McCree let go of what little was left of his pride and followed the pace the other man set; he grabbed his thighs and pulled him up, throwing Hanzo’s legs on his shoulders and thrusting deeper and faster. The new angle looked just right, because the archer groaned and closed his eyes, the tendons on his throat bulging under the skin. A flow of muttered, confused words ran from Hanzo’s mouth and McCree simply adored that wild sound; he leaned closer and shivered when a set of burning scratches bloomed on his back, where Hanzo raked his fingers in complete abandonment.

His head was empty of everything but the physical sensations crushing him – his cock sinking deep, the slap of flesh against flash, that single name echoing in a roaring refrain.

 _Hanzo Hanzo_ Hanzo _…_

He squeezed a hand between them and circled Hanzo’s cock, adding more friction in quick strokes.

“I… I…”

How could he talk in that moment? And yet words rolled from his tongue, words he didn’t think he could say.

“I’ve been alone for… so long”, he whispered. Hanzo held him down and kissed his lips, his cheek, his whole face before a long shiver jolted through his body. He tensed and roared a perfect sound of agonizing pleasure, spilling in McCree’s fist and over his chest.

It was the last straw for McCree. He felt his orgasm build up and take control; he bucked frantically and grasped Hanzo’s thighs, a moan rising into a cry as he came screaming his name.

The last powerful waves of pleasure died down and he collapsed on Hanzo; they were both panting, sweaty and distraught – and it felt good. With a snort he rolled on his side and took in Hanzo’s dishevelled, wonderful face. His cheek were red and his eyes half closed, but a smile lingered at the corner of his lips.

He looked for something to say, but Hanzo prevented him with a light kiss on his nose.

For now – and forever, had he had the chance – he just wanted to stay like this, boneless and perfectly satisfied. He reached out to take Hanzo in his arms, but the other man got on his feet and walked to the river.

McCree sat up and crossed his legs, looking at him step into the water and wash himself; Hanzo dived in the stream and disappeared for a second, emerging in a fan of droplets like an otter.

The night was quiet and still, and for that blessed moment McCree stopped caring about anything but their fleeting bubble of happiness. Still, when Hanzo shook his head and turned back to the shore, something had changed on his face, and McCree felt the very well know sting of an imminent delusion.

Hanzo was not smiling anymore, and no trace of affection was left on his face. He looked serious, almost grim, and McCree feared he’d broken something between them.

_No, not again – I can’t lose this too. Just this time, just for once I don’t want to…_

With slow steps and his head low Hanzo walked back to the fire and wore his pants, and then, as if in an afterthought, looked at McCree.

No, he was not angry, but bitterness was heavy in his eyes, and an otherworldly sadness. McCree, still naked, reached out, but Hanzo just dropped beside him. Self-possessed he sat on his heels, so very different from the wonderful moaning mess he’d been just a few minutes before, and he opened his mouth as if to speak. McCree couldn’t help but take his hand and the other man didn’t pull away, even if he was still avoiding his eyes, face hidden behind the fall of his hair.

“Hey, honey, are you alright? I know you can’t understand me but I thought it felt good, I…”

And then the impossible happened. Hanzo straightened his back and stared into nothing.

“My name is Hanzo Shimada, and I killed my brother”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They had it coming. I couldn't wait to kick that "U" from "UST" and here we are :3  
> Also, SURPRISE! Hanzo has a lot of things to say, but why didn't he speak before? See you on the next chapter for some much needed explaination and tons of angst.
> 
> I had to make some resarch to find some historically believable lube - no mom, if you're reading this don't worry, I'm fine - and this was very useful:
> 
> http://oldwesternaction.tumblr.com/post/150789478390/lube-for-the-wild-west
> 
> Thank you all for your support, it means the world to me <3 As usual, find me on Tumblr @acupofgeek


	6. Not leavin' you

“You… you… _what_?”

“You heard me. I killed my own brother, and I couldn’t spend another night at your side with this secret oppressing my soul”.

McCree knew there were many things wrong with him at the moment. He should have closed his mouth and stopped staring at Hanzo as if a second head had sprouted from his shoulder; he should have put on some clothes – this looked much like a situation where being stark naked might be considered weird – and ask questions.

 _You_ speak _my language? You’ve always understood what I was sayin’, why didn’t you talk to me?_

All he could do, instead, was clutch Hanzo’s fist in his hand and look at him, bewildered and concerned.

Hanzo’s voice was deep, a heavy foreign accent making his words sound like a song.

A dozen doubts crowded McCree’s mind and yet none formed on his lips. He sat frozen, eyes wide and stuck on the stern profile of Hanzo’s nose peeking behind the curtain of his hair.

The flowing of the river only magnified the silence of the night, but this time there was a burden of things left unsaid between them.

McCree cleared his throat and prayed he was not about to do the wrong thing, but when he tried to speak only a hushed whisper resonated in the still air.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he asked, and at that Hanzo turned to him so abruptly he almost let go of his hand.

“Why? Why do you even ask?” he hissed in response, eyes shining with rage and despair.

“Because there must be a reason yer speakin’ to me, angel, and if I can make some difference I would…”

Hanzo covered his face with his palm and took a shaking breath, almost a muffled sob.

McCree crawled to Hanzo and took him in his arms, expecting the other man to reject him and yet unable to stop himself. To his surprise, Hanzo leaned in his embrace and laid his head on his shoulder.

“I know I’m not much an’ I’ll understand if you consider me nosy but… but I’m here, if you wish”.

“No. You’re more than I expected”. Hanzo’s voice rumbled against his skin and McCree’s throat clenched when the archer turned in his arms and shifted to look him in the eyes. “More than I deserve, probably”.

“Oh, don’t say that, I’m nothing special and – well, you heard my story, I’m no saint and prob’ly not worth of your time or attention”.

Hanzo shook his head and let McCree ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the dark and silver strands on his temples back.

“You can tell me or not, if you prefer. I’m not goin’ anywhere in any case”.

“I’ve already decided you need to hear the whole story. I hope you will not think too bad of me after I’m done, although I’m well aware I have no right to compassion or…”

His words died in a muffled sigh when McCree kissed him – lightly at first, and then Hanzo opened his mouth and kissed him back, clutching his shoulders. He broke away and gulped, eyes shut; McCree lifted his chin with a gentle finger and smiled.

“I’m here”, he whispered, and Hanzo relaxed a bit, sitting back on his heels.

“That night when… when you told me about your past. I had already realized there was more about you than meets the eye, but it was then I decided you _needed_ to know. You mentioned war, and war made me what I am”.

The archer looked up to the sky and clenched his jaws.

“I come from an old and powerful family – aristocratic, you’d say in this part of the world…”

“Thought so”, McCree let slip, biting his lip immediately after. “Sorry. I mean, you look pretty… noble?”

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow and almost smiled, shaking his head.

“That’s because I am. I w-was the heir, the first born to a clan that took pride in an underlying, but stark loyalty to the Emperor. I was raised for duty and honor, instructed on how to keep up the good name of the Shimadas since I was able to walk”. He pushed a damp lock from his forehead and kept going, not looking at McCree but still touching him – his fingers fluttered from his shoulders and rested on his legs.

“That was all I’ve always known: to do everything necessary for the clan. And I _loved_ it – it was my life, my destiny, and I’d accepted it gladly. Until it became a curse”.

McCree was enraptured by his words and felt guilty for loving it so much. Hanzo spoke with the fluidity of a scholar, but his accent and the way his voice broke every now and then were the tattletale of the grief he carried within. He took his hands and crossed their fingers together, keeping quiet.

“The birth of my brother is one of my first memories. I was three, a little soldier already, and I was scared because my mother cried and the elders of the clan fussed around her room – and then I heard them all cheer and laugh. My father took me to the room and I saw him – I saw Genji”.

Hanzo’s shoulders slumped and a quiet sigh shook them, but when he spoke again his voice was steady, heavy with affection.

“Such a little thing he was, all pink and screaming… ‘He’s your little brother, Hanzo, and you must take care of him and love him well’. I… I suppose I failed them all”.

“No, no, honey, don’t…”

Hanzo stopped him with an iron glance and McCree fell silent.

“I haven’t even spoken his name in… oh, in almost ten years. Back then, when we were kids, he was the only one who loved me for who I was and not for what I was supposed to be. He liked being with me, he laughed and held my hand when he was learning how to walk and… and my name was his first word. He didn’t care that I was the heir or what our family expected of me. We were just children, we were happy”.

Nothing in his tone had changed, but his eyes were now glistening with tears, and McCree felt his own heart break at the sight; he stroke Hanzo’s hand with his thumb and waited, giving him all the time he needed.

“Then we grew up. And apart, but not really – we always found some time to be together, it was our personal moment of peace. Genji was smarter than me, a master of free thinking, something the Shimada clan disapproved of. I should have disapproved that too but… he was my little brother, can you understand it?”

“Can’t say I know much about families, but I fear I do…”

“He rebelled against our family and followed the shogun”, and at McCree blank expression he explained.

“The – how would you call him? – the great general, appointed to lead the whole of Japan. Back then, the shogunate was losing supporters. Unrest spread throughout my homeland, and the nationalist clans engaged in war to allow the Emperor to rise anew. The Shimadas were among them”.

“But why did your brother…”

“Genji was headstrong and wanted things his way. Whatever our clan said, he did the opposite, and was very good at it, too. He was a fighter, at least as skilled as I am, but a free spirit, while I was the product of our father’s will”.

His voice wove a tapestry and McCree could almost see it – pink blossoms and wooden walls, two young black haired men facing each other in the empty courtyard of the palace. Hanzo painted the gleam of steel in his hand and the sword of his father came to life through his words, the legacy of centuries of Shimadas. He felt the confusion and despair of Hanzo as if they were his own.

“The elders… they forced me to fight him. For the honor of our family, they said, and I was fool enough to believe them. I was… I was weak, and I thought it was right, even if my soul screamed the contrary. I challenged Genji to a duel, and the moment he accepted I knew one of us was going to die”.

A single tear rolled down his lashes and disappeared in his beard, but he did nothing to hide it.

“As our swords clashed together I realized my mistake, but couldn’t find the strenght of will to put an end to that madness. It was my duty, and never before I had doubted the clan’s teachings and beliefs… until then”.

McCree ran his thumb on Hanzo’s cheek and wiped the wet trail of his tears; his own eyes were none the drier, but he tried to stay calm. It was a tragic story in its own, but it also picked the wrong strings of his past with Gabe.

“When I say… when I say I was good I’m not boasting. I started to train in martial arts and swordsmanship and archery since when I was three, I think, and… and I loved it. I’d never failed a duel: at the time I had killed many enemies already on the first shot and never felt regret. With Genji I… I couldn’t”. His hands fell from McCree’s grip and he stared at them as if not recognizing his own body. “I still feel it every night. Genji’s sword hitting mine, the sparkles, the way I turned around and counterattacked… and the steel piercing his chest”. He clenched his fists and this time tears overflowed from his lids in silence.

“He f-fell to his knees and looked at me and… and…” He covered his mouth with one hand and sighed loudly, and McCree held him close, stroking his hair and his back, whispering a flow of meaningless words in his ears. Hanzo quivered in his arms and cried, tears dripping on McCree bare skin and teeth sinking in his own hand to stifle the sound.

“My name was the first word he spoke. And his last”, he murmured.

For long they just stood like that, McCree speechless and biting his lip not to join Hanzo’s demise. He cradled Hanzo against his chest and waited for him to be ready to speak again.

“I saw his blood – _our_ blood on the cherry blossoms, and it was so red and… it was all my fault, I killed him and… and there was no turning back. I remember my reflection in the blade and I was crying… and I… I threw my father’s sword away”. Hanzo sniffed and shivered, his head still lowered. “I ran. Turned my back to my home and to my dying brother and… left the Shimada castle. Forever”.

McCree waited and stroked Hanzo’s head gently; he kissed his temple and waited some more, letting a pack of questions come to life in his head. In the end he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“So that’s why you use a bow”.

Hanzo stiffened and raised his head, looking at him with red, incredulous eyes.

“I… yes, you are right. I just couldn’t bring myself to use a sword again after Genji”. He sat back and wiped his cheeks, breath hoarse and uneven and a sad chuckle in his throat. “Of all the things you could have asked…”

“Won’t say I ain’t got a pretty load of things I want to know, but this is your story. I’m just here to help, if I can”, he interrupted him with a shrug. Tears swelled in Hanzo’s eyes again and he looked away. “I won’t leave, I promise”.

“I know”, and those simple, quivering words held all the trust McCree felt he didn’t deserve.

_But I need it so bad…_

Another long silence; Hanzo inhaled deeply and when he spoke again his voice was steadier.

“I left Hanamura – my hometown – that day, and Japan some time later. I was not a Shimada anymore, although my family would have welcomed me back with open arms; I was done with that life and I had killed the only one of my kin I truly loved… _that_ wasn’t my home anymore. After some years as a renegade, or a ronin, as we call those like me, I sailed west and got to America”. He stood up and took his bow, running his fingers on the arched wood and the string with a grimace. “This is all I have left of my land. Even the clothes I wear come from a merchant”. His head jerked up and the glance he shot McCree was sharper than one of his arrows. “I should be dead”.

“Me too, but I don’t fancy the idea much”, he said with a grin. Not that he was amused, quite the contrary, but joking on tragedies was his only coping mechanism; Hanzo shook his head again and sat down at his side.

“No, I should have taken my life. What use is living if you have no honor left?”

“I dunno, but if you wish I can give ya what keeps me alive despite all the horrible things I have done…”

“Please, I’m all ears”, and this time there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. McCree simply adored it, but emotions got the best of him. He crossed his legs and tilted his head on the side.

“You can’t change yer past nor you can run from it, no matter how far you go. But”, and he reached out to take the other man’s hand. Touching him made things easier. “But with every day you choose to live comes another chance to do something good – like savin’ a cowboy from the noose. A foolish, coward of a cowboy who almost dropped his opportunity to be a better person and got back to his mind almost a second too late. Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’”.

“I already punched you for that, Jesse”.

His name. Again.

“Oh. Yer the only one who calls me that, y’know? Mostly I'm McCree, or 'that bloody bastard'”.

“Why not? I like your name. It suits you”.

McCree felt his face blush and rubbed his beard to hide his pleasant embarrassment.

“Yeah - er. What I mean is... Hanzo, I’m on my way to get revenge on Reyes and yet since you came into my life vengeance has lost some of its appeal. There’s hope for redemtpion for people like us, and I’d like to… to… ah, nevermind”, and he waved his hand to dismiss the thought. “I’m being oversentimental”.

Hanzo turned to him and touched his face, keeping him from looking away.

He was so beautiful, no matter if the tip of his nose was red and his eyes even redder, and McCree felt he could have cried at the sight. He stuttered something and his heart jumped to his throat.

“Say it”.

“I… you…”. He coughed and bit his lip, taking his time to find the right words. “ _Stay with me_. I have no idea where the road will take us, but we’ve had our share of loneliness and regret. I want to help you, just…”

He couldn’t finish his phrase. Hanzo cupped his face in his hands and kissed him breathless, and all McCree could do was sink in him. There was despair in the dance of their tongues, need in their lips crushed together.

There was _hope_ , too, and it shone like a small sun between them.

McCree hugged Hanzo so fiercely he heard him gasp in surprise against his mouth, and without letting him go he chuckled.

“I like your enthusiasm, darlin'”, he said softly, and Hanzo pecked him another kiss.

“I like _you_ ”, and Hanzo blushed to the tip of his ears, stepping back and rubbing his eyes once more. McCree laughed in earnest and got to his feet; he quickly washed himself and, still dripping wet, went back to the fire.

Hanzo was still shaken, but he seemed to have recollected himself and now was lying down on his bedroll.

After putting on his pants McCree joined him, taking his hands and sighing, almost happy.

At this Hanzo snorted.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’. It’s just... yer cute, and I’m so lucky I found you”.

“Yes, _now_ you’re being oversentimental”.

“Is it a problem?”  
  
“Never said you should stop”.

McCree giggled and snuggled closer, and for a while the only sound in their little corner of world was the snoring of the horses.

Then Hanzo spoke again.

“You’re the first one to hear my story”, he whispered. McCree took him in his arms and kissed his forehead.

“I dunno how I could have earned such a privilege, but thank you, angel”.

“You’re a strange man, Jesse McCree”, Hanzo muttered, his nose nuzzling McCree’s chest. After some time the rhythm of his breath became slower and deeper, his body warm with sleep.

For what looked like hours McCree couldn’t fall asleep, touched by the trust Hanzo’d showed him by revealing such an intimate and tragic corner of his soul. He just stood still, every now and then running his fingers in the other man’s hair with a feathery touch as not to wake him up. Eventually he closed his eyes, tired and yet feeling more alive than he’d been in a long time.

_I’ll be worthy, honey. I swear._

 

When they woke up McCree was pleasantly surprised to find Hanzo still nestled against his chest, and he couldn't have hoped for a better goodmorning. This time there was no reason to restrain; he leaned closer and ran his fingers through the silky mass of black hair, smiling dreamily as Hanzo's brow furrowed in the last seconds of sleep. When he opened his eyes and blinked McCree smiled some more and kissed the other man's cheek; it felt good and something more - it felt natural, like breathing. And God knew for how long he'd felt like choking.

"Hello, sweetie", he whispered. At this Hanzo grunted but didn't let go of him, rubbing his nose in McCree's beard.

"Mph".

"Aye, not a morning person, I figured that out already". Their forehead were touching and under the pile of covers they'd pulled around them it was warm and cozy, while the outside world still retained the chill of the desert's night. Hanzo's leg were intertwined with his own and for once McCree really didn't feel like getting up.

Yet there were things to do, and for all his fondness for Hanzo McCree was still a wanted criminal who needed to clean up his name. He stretched with a roar and sat up, taking Hanzo with him.

"Mmmmph" was all the archer had to say. His hair was everywhere - in his eyes, in his mouth - and McCree bit his lip not to laugh. It was hard to overlap this sleepy, tender Hanzo with the ruthless warrior he'd learn to admire, or the broken man he was starting to care too much about. Let's not talk about the passionate lover he still craved for, because the temptation of giving it another go was all too strong.

Hanzo slit opened his eyes and blinked at McCree, who couldn't but chuckle.

"'Mornin'", he said again.

"No". Hanzo got to his feet with a faint grimace; there was a purple bite mark on his shoulder and red hickeys on his neck, and at the sight McCree felt his pants go tight at the crotch.

Standing up he stretched some more and took his shirt; behind him Hanzo was washing his face in the river, and when he turned back he looked actually awake.

McCree didn't even try to play it cool and smacked his lips in appreciation, sliding on his shirt and immediately squirming - the scratches on his back burned. He adored the sensation and wanted more, but quickly forced to change subject.

His head popped out of the collar and Hanzo proved to be of no help: fresh hands cupped his face and McCree blinked before a kiss shut his mouth close.

This was new. Not the kissing or the waking up at another person's side, but how everything felt just right. He circled Hanzo's waist with his arms and embraced him, surrendering to the kiss. He felt safe and relaxed, and for once the shadows on their future didn't seem too dark.

Hanzo broke away, serious - but with a gleam of mischief in his eyes -  and tilted his head.

"Someday I'll understand how you can be so chatty so early", he said, voice still hoarse from sleep.

"You have to be when you spend so much time alone in the desert, otherwise you could go mad from the silence", and for all his cheery tone his words felt heavier than he'd intended. Hanzo understood what lay under the surface and nodded.

"You were right: we've both had our share of loneliness. But now we should be going, right?"

If there was something McCree was starting to understand about his unexpected companion was that he was careful. Maybe not with his actions - and who was he to draw a line between courage and bravado? - but with his words. Each of them held so much meaning and he seemed to choose them carefully.

"Yeah, honey, we really should", and he kissed him again, holding his breath and enjoying the faint smile curving Hanzo's lips against his own.

Less than half an hour and a frugal breakfast later they were back on the road, direction Soledad and, hopefully, Reyes.

Hanzo sat upright on horseback and McCree considered that popping the lid of his past had done him good, somehow: he still looked troubled, but some of the weight oppressing his shoulders seemed to have eased.

This time his thoughts didn't go unnoticed.

"I suppose you have questions, cowman, so just ask away", said Hanzo, dark eyes fixed on the horizon. McCree stuttered and quickly turned his embarrassment into a booming laughter.

"Sure I do, but right now I was simply enjoying the sight. Told you how pretty you are, haven't I?"

"You... may have mentioned it once or twice", and his cheeks flushed faintly. "I think, at least; I was quite distracted, you know?"  
  
"I love distracting you". McCree, reins in his left fist, stopped to take Hanzo's hand and gallantly kiss his knuckles. For all his snorting and blushing Hanzo almost smiled, and McCree sighed contented. "But yeah, I have some things I'd like to ask you. If it's too much just tell me to shut up, nothing personal".

"You have all the rights to be perplexed of even disappointed".

"More like curious". McCree lowered his hat on his eyes against the now too bright sunlight. It was getting hot already. "Why did you talk to me?"

Hanzo turned to him with his eyes wide and an earnest look of surprise on his sharp features.

"Really?"

"What? Wrong question? Sorry 'bout that then, I thought..."

"No, no, but... I don't know, I'd expected something else. Something more like... why I sailed east to come here or..."

"Oh, I see. Well, call me cocky but I like to think we'll have some time to spend together - if... if you'll have me, of course, and if we don’t get killed on the road, but let's assume things will be fine - and I'll get to know you better. For now..."

McCree winced when Hanzo leaned closer and tightened the grip on his hand.

"... for now ask and I'll be honest, Jesse".

"Babe, don't you know how good my name sounds when yer the one speakin' it? You're making me all giddy like a schoolgirl".

"A very hairy schoolgirl with the bad habit of smoking", he jested, and at this McCree took his cigar and laughed.

"And also not very good at the whole school thing, yeah... but really, if you don't mind tellin' me, I'd really like to know why you chose to talk to me, or even to stay with me, for the matter".

Hanzo sighed heavily and looked back at the road.

"I owe you my life", he replied curtly.

"And I owe you mine. Twice, last time I checked".

"The first one doesn't count. I didn't intend to save you in the first place, I just needed the wagon and the horses", he grumbled, leaving McCree's hand and grabbing the reins.

"So you were not impressed by my scruffy good looks and gentle eyes? I'm hurt", he moaned in faked outrage. Hanzo rolled his eyes but his lips pressed in a smiling line.

"Not at the time - I mean, just _no_ ", but it was too late, and McCree beamed at the confession. Grumpy, Hanzo continued. "But then you came back to find me when you didn't have to, and I'd be dead by now hadn't been for you".

"But... it was my fault you'd ended up in that situation", he said, voice losing all his jolly good humor.

 _Things may be different now, but I still feel guilty. Now more than ever, because I betrayed someone I'm growing too fond of_.

"True, but you didn't have to come back and change the things. You made a mistake and tried to make amends for it". His rough voice dropped to a whisper, nearly covered by the soft steps of the horses, and McCree started to understand where they were going. Hanzo's eyes were narrowed against the sun, light wrinkles at their corners. "At first I needed you, but then I started to look at you as if in a mirror... funny how I had to cross an ocean to find such an inspiration".

"Inspiration? _Me_? Darlin', I'm nothing but a rogue with a shitty past and no one to go home to, not even a proper home actually. You must be really desperate to consider me..."

"I _am_ desperate, but also very clear minded", he snapped. "Stop diminishing yourself, Jesse. You took care of me - and let's admit it, those bandits would have found us both, had you been with me, so I don't think you leaving made much difference".

"I did. I ran away, that's what I do when I'm scared", he growled. "You should hate me".

"And you should listen to me and let me speak", he deadpanned. "Because night after night, as you started to talk to me thinking I couldn't understand you, I saw through you. I saw a man on a path not much different from my own, suffering, alone and yet willing to become something more. I saw what I want to be".

"Hanzo, really, I'm... I'm nothing. Even now what am I doing? Hunting down a man I used to call friend, a man who betrayed my trust, someone I'm planning to kill".

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't. There must be something beyond vengeance".

"I..."

McCree had no further reply to this. He lowered his head and urged the horse forward, the sun burning his shoulders.

"I had time to listen and to observe these past days, and I know what I saw: Jesse McCree, a good man in a quest to find himself. And this is so much what I'm trying to be - good, with a purpose, chasing redemption - that I couldn't help but stick with you". Hanzo shrugged and shot McCree a gentle look.

"You really do trust me", he said softly, shaking his head in disbelief, and Hanzo nodded.

"You said you wanted a chance to prove worthy, and here I am. Show me what good we can do, cowboy".

"That's... that's more than I expected", and his throat clenched with emotions. He fell silent for a while and then shivered deeply despite the burning sun. "I dunno what to do, except that I need to find Reyes, do you understand this?"

"I do. It's a matter of honor after all, just don't make revenge your only goal. I'm by your side".

McCree pulled the reins and as Hanzo did the same he leaped forward and embraced him, causing the horses to shift and huff in annoyance.

"You're an incredible man, and I'm so happy you're here", he whispered, and this time it was Hanzo who stroke his hair.

"And you're being oversentimental again".

"Not my fault, yer pretty and wise, and I'm just a man", he smirked as he sat straight again. "But thank you".

"Move along, cowman, we don't have all day. And I'm sure you have other questions, right?"

"Oh I do! Like... when did you decide blowing me in the back of a saloon was the right way of approaching me?"

"What - McCree! This is personal!"  
  
"But you _did_ blow me in the back of..."  
  
"I _know_ what I did but... but..."

Adorable. He was just adorable, all pink and flustered in contrast with his tidy goatee and austere nose. McCree couldn't help but giggle.

"I'm jokin', sweetpea, don't mind me. May I say I'm really glad you took that move, tho? I'm way less straightforward..."

"Mph. Whatever".

"If you want to know, anyways, for me it was when you jumped from the hill and beat these thugs to death. I was like 'McCree, you're in the middle of a battle and keep lookin' at that fine booty, you know what that means', and..."

Hanzo punched him in the arm, but McCree could see he was forcing back a grin.

"I swear! An' I'm old enough to know some of..."

"Alright, I understand. Can we cut it short and save ourselves the embarrassment?"  
  
"I'm not embarrassed!"  
  
Hanzo let out another of these broody groans and trotted faster, and McCree followed up, cheerful.

He was right, they had time and long hours of journey to fill with each other's story. It'd been years since he'd felt so close to someone and it was like being young again - and for now that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone!
> 
> First thing first, let me thank you all again for your suggestions and support - with a special thanks to @Rimworld for the historical background (and for being responsible for this fic to happen). I had to simplify the whole Meiji restoration issue for narrative sake, but I hope I didn't mess things up too much. In case, please correct me - the more you know!


	7. Livin' hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

It was another day on the road to reach Soledad, which meant another night with Hanzo before coming to terms with reality. McCree didn’t even try to hide the fact that he loved everything about that – about _them_ , whatever they were. Setting up camp probably counted as foreplay, a quick mess filled with needy glances and the inability to keep their hands off each other. Or their mouths, or their everything, for what mattered.

McCree had insisted on taking the long way, avoiding towns and trafficked roads to lower the chances of Reyes catching up on them; despite everything, though – the fatigue of the ride, and not just on horseback, the soothing presence of Hanzo curled up at his side, and the quiet atmosphere of the desert – McCree spent a good chunk of the night awake.

Sitting apart from the fire he rolled Hanzo’s ribbon between his fingers, the slippery silk still warm from its owner’s body. Such owner was now sleeping soundly a few steps away, crouched on his side, black loose locks on his bare shoulder. McCree sighed softly: how long had it been since he’d felt so close to someone? And it was not just a physical thing, with all that he would gladly have spent his days learning new ways to make Hanzo moan and beg.

He twisted the ribbon in his fists and dropped his head. No, Hanzo’d been right: they were like mirrors for each other, and he only wished his real self was as diamond-hard and brave as the reflection the other man showed him.

A matter of honor, Hanzo had called his desire of vengeance on Gabe.

_That’s a pretty way to put it. Too pretty: it’s just that I ain’t gonna sleep at night knowing he’s lookin’ for me. Knowin’ that there’s someone out there ready to shove my past in my face._

“I can hear you thinking from here”. Hanzo’s sleepy voice floated in the silence and McCree winced; the archer was sitting and rubbing his eyes, his cover rolled around his waist and his pale skin almost glowing in the last embers of the fire. “Are you alright?”

“What… hell, yeah, i’m fine. I was just – er – waitin’. For the dawn. Go back to sleep, I’ll try to think more quietly”.

Hanzo shook his head and brushed back his hair, rising to join McCree with a yawn. He was still naked, and apparently more than at ease as he sat at his side.

McCree chuckled and threw an arm across his shoulders.

“Well, now I can’t even remember what I was thinkin’ about…”

“You’re restless”.

“And you’re naked”.

“Does it bother you?” and he leaned forward to place a light kiss on his neck. McCree giggled as Hanzo’s beard tickled his skin.

“Not at all”. He turned and shifted to capture Hanzo’s lips with his own, and his heart raced faster at the touch of his tongue. He had to pull away and sighed, bumping his forehead to the archer’s. “I want to finish this business with Reyes once and for all. Then I’ll be…”

_At peace? Better?_

Hanzo finished for him.

“… ready to live again. I understand, and you have my bow”. He stood up and offered him his hand. “And everything else, too”.

McCree smiled – a real smile, no hint of sarcasm or bitterness in it – and let the other man pull him up.

“Where have you been all this time?” he whispered. Hanzo snatched the ribbon from his hands and cocked an eyebrow.

“I could ask you the same. Get ready, cowman, the sooner we get to Soledad the better”.

Watching his unlikely companion get dressed warmed something in McCree’s chest. He actually felt lighter now, as if speaking to Hanzo helped to share his burden.

 _And probably that’s it, fo’ real_ , he thought as they rode off. Soledad – and, supposedly, Reyes – was just hours away and every step brought them closer to the goal and made him more nervous.

Hanzo was quiet at his side, but before midday he looked at McCree with inquiring eyes.

“I don’t want to worsen your concerns, but you mentioned a bounty on your head…”

“Oh, that. Yeah, a good pile of gold for my sorry hide, y’know?”

“Doesn’t it worry you?”

McCree shrugged.

“Not really. I was just one of the small fish in Reyes’ school; now he’s cleaned his name, but if I can prove he was the mastermind behind all the trouble during the war I could get away with it. Maybe. I think”.

“You don’t sound very convinced”.

He smirked nervously and adjusted his hat.

“’Cause I’m not, but you know how it is in the Gospel”. At this Hanzo tilted his head.

“I’ve been in California for three years now and I’m quite satisfied with my knowledge of the English language, but…”

“Each day has enough trouble of its own. One step at a time, angel. I can think of little beyond putting a bullet in Reyes’ head”.  
His voice broke. The more he considered killing Gabe, the more old memories came to his mind – the wrong kind of memories, those including a man who’d been his first friend, who taught him nearly everything he knew and gave him his first opportunity at life.

_And now I have to kill him._

Hanzo’s hand found his own and squeezed it gently. It was a large hand, long fingers marked with calluses where the bow usually rested.

“You said it before: _we_ ’ll find a way”.

McCree was about to reply something, but his lips froze halfway another smile and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Hanzo’s face hardened, as did the grip on his hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s… quiet”, he whispered, senses reaching out before consciousness. “Too quiet”.

Hanzo backed away slowly and without a word slid a hand behind his shoulders, slipping an arrow from its quiver and nocking it.

Silence was a common thing, but that absolute stillness was odd even in the desert. No chirping of bugs, no birds calling from the distance… McCree took his gun and looked around under the brim of his hat.

Nothing was moving in the deep shadows of the red rocks, and yet a shiver chilled him to the bone.

Again his animal instinct kicked in. While Hanzo was still searching the area with furious eyes McCree pointed his arm over the archer’s head and fired his gun.

The horses whinnied and reared, Hanzo cursed in Japanese and a black shape fell from the cliffs. The body hit the ground with a loud thud and a cloud of red dust.

“ _Run!_ ” he cried, spurring his horse and bending over its neck. Hanzo was quick to follow him up, but bullets started to fly too near them.

“Reyes?” the archer growled.

“Most likely. _Fuck_!” An almost lucky shot hissed by his ear and McCree urged the horse faster; he took the reins in one hand and turned around, adjusting his aim with the jolts of his mount. Three men and as many firearms, two guns and a rifle pointing at them.

Three? Two. One of the pursuers flew from the saddle with an arrow stuck in his chest, and his rifle ended under the hooves. McCree caught a glimpse of Hanzo, his shoulder bared and his thighs clutching the horse’s back. He stood high, one hand on the bow and the other searching for another arrow.

“Next one’s mine!” he boomed, coming back to his senses and narrowing his eyes. The nearest of the survivors lifted his hand and aimed for his head, but was not fast enough; with a loud bang McCree shot him and got him in his shoulder. The man rolled off his horse and fell, one boot catching in the stirrup and the poor animal going down with him, crushing his rider’s limbs under its massive body.

The last horseman pulled at the reins and his horse bucked up, lips foaming as his rider forced him to turn and run away.

“No, wait!” McCree stopped Hanzo before he could let go of his arrow, and the archer shot him a steel glance. “Let him go. Let Reyes know I’m comin’ for him”.

“Are you insane? I can still…”  
  
“I know you can catch him, but – how would you put it? – there’s not much honor in shootin’ a man who’s runnin’ away, am I right?” He relaxed on the saddle and his horse slowed down.

Hanzo grunted and stopped by his side. His face, half hidden by a strand of hair, looked furious, but he nodded.

“That was spot on”, he mumbled, putting the arrow back and lowering his bow. He looked up to McCree and wrinkled his nose. “By the way you are a fool for letting an enemy go”.

McCree squinted and watched the rear of the enemy horse disappear among the hills. There was no sarcasm in his voice.

“He’s a message. By now Amélie should have told Gabe already I survived, and knowing I’m coming for him will make him nervous”.

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea”.

“You don’t say…” He rode off, head low and fingers still wrapped around his gun. He pushed his horse and Hanzo quickly caught up, but for a long time none of them spoke.

McCree picked his last cigar from his pocket and lit it up, careful not to look at Hanzo.

Of course it was not a good idea, but his heart felt heavy at the thought of ambushing Gabe without notice.

A duel, that was what he wanted, but it was an unlikely scenario: Reyes knew who the best gunslinger was among the two of them and wouldn’t risk his life against someone younger and faster than him.

And yet…

“I smell smoke”. Hanzo’s voice broke the silence after what looked like hours. McCree inhaled deeply and let the scent of burning tobacco leaves scratch his nose.

“I know, honey, I…”

“No, I mean it. Something’s on fire, and it’s not you”. At this McCree looked at the other man, finding him scanning in the distance with his eyebrows knitted in concern.

He took the cigar from his lips and held it from his face, but all he could breathe in was the faint smoke coming from his fingers.

Still, he had no reasons to doubt Hanzo’s senses.

“Are you sure?”

“There”, and he pointed south. “No, I’m not sure, but we should check”. He looked serious and alert. McCree shivered in the hot afternoon sun.

“Soledad’s that way. Let’s move, I don’t like this thing”, and he set off again.

By the time the skyline of Soledad appeared in the distance McCree realized Hanzo’d been right. What clouded the horizon was not the heat of the desert, nor one of the sand storms that sometimes blurred California. A dark smudge of smoke rose from the wooden houses, and as they approached the town the faint echo of people screaming floated in the wind.

Halting his horse by a rock McCree gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath. Hanzo stopped beside him, deadly serious.

“We’re late”, he said.

“Yeah, we are”. He tilted his hat backwards and gave a closer look – yes, there were people running around, and horses waiting by the road that crossed the two rows of buildings.

His instinct tickled and McCree grabbed his gun, ready to spur his horse forward; before he could kick the beast in the sides Hanzo’s hand clutched the reins.

“Wait. You’re going to go there and start shooting whoever comes your way, aren’t you?”

“I’m only going to shoot one single person – and yeah, anyone who’s crazy enough to try to stop me”. He couldn’t stand looking at him but forced himself to do so nonetheless. He immediately regretted his choice, because Hanzo’s eyes were hard on him, his face a mask of concern.

As if he really cared about him.

McCree swallowed hate and dust and looked back to Soledad.

“You don’t need to come along”, he snarled, and at this Hanzo let go of the reins.

“And you’re in no position to tell me what to do. I’m not leaving you alone”.

It felt like being punched in the guts. McCree held his breath and peeked at Hanzo – stern, pale profile standing out against the red rocks, one hand on his bow, the other on the horse’s mane.

His heart felt heavy and bigger than it was supposed to be.

“Yer really…”

_… going to come with me. You care._

“… stubborn and more than welcome, darlin’”.

 

 

Predictably enough, Hanzo was right. Less than an hour later they reached the borders of Soledad and McCree cursed under his breath.

“Why?” asked Hanzo in a whisper, staring at the black skeletons of the three burned buildings before them. Only charred wood beams and ashes were left of what once were the few shops in town, and clusters of people were standing in front of the ruins, some on their knees, many crying.

“That’s so Reyes”, answered McCree. “You heard Amélie: he wanted to buy, they didn’t want to sell. And he doesn’t accept a no as an answer”.

Hanzo armed his bow and held the horse in place pressing his knees on his back.

“Is he here?”

“I dunno. Not even sure if I wish for him to be or not, but… well, I’m sorry for these people. Knew someone here, once, that deserved better than…”

A woman screamed not so far away, and before the two men could turn to the source of the noise a blaze of flame burst against the blue sky.

Enough talking. They urged forward without even speaking and turned around the corner of rocks still hiding them.

By the time they got to the fire the whole house was already a pyre, the flames dancing up in swirls of black smoke. The first thing McCree saw was a tall, stooped man with spiky blond hair laughing manically in front of the devastation. Behind him…

His heart dropped. A pale blonde woman was running out of the building, a child clinging to her shoulders; many other kids were surrounding a slender dark haired girl, all rallying around her skirt like chicks.

McCree jumped from his horse and didn’t even bother securing the beast anywhere; he ran straight to the stranger – he was clapping his thigh and howling in amusement, his worn out clothes all burnt at the edges and a torch still in his hand – and grabbed his wiry arm. He tugged fiercely and the smile on that long, sharp face faltered for a second right before McCree’s fist landed – twice –  with a creaking of bones on his mouth. The man’s head snapped backwards, his eyes crossed and with a spurt of blood from his broken lips he fell flat on his back.

McCree, for good measure, kicked him in the stomach and looked up to meet a familiar face.

“Angela?” he croaked, the red veil of anger lifting from his eyes. Hanzo reached him and lowered his bow; the woman – there was a black gash on her cheek and her fair hair was burned on the side of her head – peeled the small hands of the terrified child from her back and handled him to the girl. All the other kids were crying and one or two stared at McCree as if he was the devil himself.

“Miss… miss Ziegler”, he tried again, and a pair of blue eyes fixed on him. Recognition dawned on her drawn face.

“Jesse McCree? Is that you?” she whispered.

“Aye, what…”

Something squeaked in the burning building and part of the roof collapsed. Angela Ziegler turned and ran to the pyre, but McCree extended a hand and grabbed her arm.

“Wait! Yer gonna die if you go back in there!”  
“Let go of me _now_! Two of the children are still trapped inside!” she yelled in his face, struggling to get free. McCree threw his hat on the ground and pushed her back.

“Alright. Where? First floor?” he asked curtly, unrolling his sarape and dropping the gun to the ground. The last thing he needed was to have it explode on his leg.

“Y-Yes”.

He didn’t think twice. He spat on the road and covered his face with his arm, running to the fire.

“Jesse! No!” Hanzo’s scream got lost in the roaring of the flames.

Air rippled in waves around the building and the heat burned McCree’s eyes as he approached the half-collapsed door. Had he stopped to consider the whole situation he could have just stepped back – it was hopeless and too dangerous and foolish to say the least.

Of course he didn’t.

Walking the threshold made everything worse: the unbearable hotness, the blinding flash of flames, the maddening creaking and crumbling of wood all around him all formed a very realistic re-enactment of Hell.

_Quick, before I roast too._

The whole ground floor was on fire, and the little he could make out in the smoke was a fuming mess of tables and chairs.

He breathed slowly through the fabric of his shirt, and even so the smoke almost choked him. He panted through his nose, trying desperately not to cough, and as he found the barely standing stairs to the upper floor the ceiling crumbled. A rain of burnt wood and embers crashed in front of him and he had to jump back; the wave of smoke took him in the face and he turned his face, gasping and teary-eyed.

And then he saw _him_.

Tall, dark skin and a shock of black curls on his forehead, the man stood by the smaller shapes of Angela and the kids. Black coat, black hat, a well groomed goatee around an all too known smirk – and McCree knew, even without seeing clearly, that the eyes fixed on him were hazel pools of cold defiance.

Gabriel Reyes was there.

For the longest moment in his whole life – second maybe to his short lived hanging – McCree stood still in the impending fire. They stared at each other and his burden of revenge and hatred pulsated and grew, filling his head and heart down to the bottom of his soul.

_Go get him. That’s what you’re after, aren’t you? Vengeance. Death. He tried to kill you. He lied and spat on you friendship. He deserves to die._

Another moan from the beams of the roof. Over the crackling of the fire the urgent cry of a child broke the bubble of McCree’s confusion. It took him all of his strength of will but he broke from Reyes’ gaze and ran back to the devastation around him.

Luckily for him he was not good at all the thinking stuff. He took a lungful of scorching hot air and ran up the stairs. He jumped the first steps, already crumbling in cinder and ashes, and landed on a flaming wooden plank. Focused on his goal he tried to ignore how his feet burned with every jump, how his ankle screamed in pain when the stairs collapsed under his weight and the splinters chewed the leather of his boot. He almost fell to his knees and had to put his hands forward not to smash his face in the fall, and in doing so his mouth filled with smoke and cinder.

A fit of cough seized his lungs and tears rolled down his cheeks – but that child was still crying, so near and in need of help, and McCree was the only one challenging the fire to take them out of that damned building. Flames were pursuing him, sparkles sizzling in his hair and beard; an ember exploded from behind him and burned his sleeve. It hurt and seared his skin and flesh, but he just ignored it. 

As he reached the top floor – sweating and breathless and limping – he took a desperate look around.

 _Where_?

Smoke crawled from below and darkened the corridor. McCree bolted to the nearest two doors; the first one was open on an empty room still filled with books and toys, and he had to kick the second. But again, no one was in sight.

 _Fuck this shit_ , he thought. He needed air so badly it almost drowned out everything else, so he took a tentative breath. Bad idea: the smoke scratched his throat and brought more tears to his eyes. His head was starting to feel dangerously light and his body too heavy, but he dragged himself along to the last door.

The crying was still there, and not only that.

A soft, high-pitched voice was humming a lullaby between muffled sobs. What remained of McCree’s wits pushed him forward in an uncoordinated sprint; he slammed the door open with his shoulder and slightly less toxic air poured in his chest like a blessing. He staggered and steadied himself to the door frame, coughing wildly and wiping his eyes with a very black and dirty arm.

The singing stopped. When he raised his head he met the gaze of a pair of colorless, large eyes wandering around his face.

“Sir… please, could you help us? I… I can’t take him out if no one is guiding me”, said a little girl with dark pigtails and round cheeks streaked with tears. In her arms a boy no older than four sobbed against her shoulder.

McCree lost no time looking for an answer. He spat again and reached the two kids, lifting them in his arms with no effort. They were so light and soft, and he was not used at holding something so frail and pure, but when the little boy snuggled against his chest and the girl threw her little arms around his neck he felt the need to protect them.

The flames roared nearer, a red burst gnawing at the door; more smoke came in and the girl sniffled, shaking faintly.

His brain worked at its maximum speed. No way to get out from the stairs, they’d all die, and it was a good ten feet jump from the window, it would likely hurt the children.

He reached for the window but his hands were pretty busy holding the two small, shivering bodies; he tried to kick but his ankle hurt too bad and he almost fell.

No more air. Hot, too hot, too bright – and then the glass exploded in a firework of shards.

“Jesse! Here!” Hanzo leaned a thick, now bleeding arm inside the room and McCree quickly gave him the girl. She didn’t let go without a fight.

“No! Not without my brother! Please, sir, don’t…”

Hanzo got hold of the kicking and screaming child and disappeared, leaving McCree with the other kid going limp in his arms. He stuck his head out of the window and gasped for air; he couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t breath and he clung to the small boy as if it was a matter of life and death.

The door frame caught fire and collapsed.

_I have to jump. If I manage to land on my back I might break some bones but the lil’one will be alright._

Or dead, both of them. But as he struggled to straddle the windowsill Hanzo was back. McCree couldn’t see him clearly – a dark shape, blue ink and red blood and firm hands taking the kid from his arms.

In the blink of an eye he was gone and the ceiling succumbed to the fire. McCree couldn’t jump, not really: he just rolled over the window, taking his chance with gravity.

He fell. Heavy, almost unconscious from the lack of air and the heat, and almost too late he tried to find a suitable way not to crash too hard on the ground. Still, he landed badly, legs bending under his weight; he rolled hard on his shoulder and every bone cried out in pain. Curled on his side McCree panted and coughed, a trail of saliva and blood dripping from his lips and in his beard.

It _hurt_. Everything hurt – lungs on fire and legs thundering and his arm burning. But pain meant he was alive.

He couldn’t open his eyes, shut tight as he wheezed in the dust. Something heavy landed on his legs, followed immediately by brutal pats and a flow of Japanese swearing.

“Your pants are on fire”, said Hanzo. His voice was trembling.

McCree half laughed, half threw up; he raised an eyebrow and slumped on his back; the serape on his legs was still smoking faintly.

“And this… this time ain’t even because of – _ng_ – you, honeybun”.

Everything went still for a second, and suddenly McCree found himself squeezed in Hanzo’s arms; one shaking hand ran through his hair and Hanzo pulled him up, cradling him against his chest.

“You are a fool”, the archer sighed to his ear, and McCree breathed in the scent of blood and fear and _Hanzo_. He lifted a hand and touched the tense, bare shoulder.

“But I’m _your_ fool”, he replied in a whisper. Hanzo pulled back and kissed him, rough and quick. Now that his eyes were not shielded by tears McCree could see him clearly: pale, drawn, lips pressed in a tight line.

He traced his cheekbone with his fingers and gasped; his skin was black, covered in soot, and his sleeve was half gone. The skin under the remains of fabric was red and blistered.

“Woah. That was a close call”, he muttered, accepting Hanzo’s help and sitting up. The sunlight was dazzling and McCree squinted. “The… the tiny one, the boy. Is he…”

“He’s fine. You saved them”. Hanzo took his hands and nodded, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “And how are you?”

“Medium rare, but I’ll survive”.

The other man punched his shoulder, and in doing so some blood trickled down his elbow. At McCree’s worried stare Hanzo shrugged.

“Scratches, nothing more. Can you stand up?”

“Yeah. Or maybe no, but if I don’t try we’ll never know, am I right?” His grip on Hanzo’s hand wasn’t as sure as he’d hoped, and when he shifted on his feet his left ankle gave way.

“Ouch! What the f…”

He turned and saw some dozen of young eyes staring at him.

“… _fine day_ , innit, kids?”

He leaned on Hanzo’s shoulder and steadied himself; Angela left the little boy in his sister’s hands and ran to him. Fresh fingers, as black as his own, took his face.

“You’re injured?”  
  
“Nothing serious – that guy over there is havin’ a harder time I guess”, and he pointed to the blonde stranger, still passed out on the ground.

The woman pressed her lips together and nodded quickly.

“Good”, and she embraced him, squeezing his chest with more strength that those slender arms seemed to possess. “Thank you”.

Hanzo chuckled and badly tried to hide his smirk. Taken aback McCree cleared his throat, not just from his daredevil rescue, and patted her on the back.

“You’re welcome, miss Ziegler. I… uh… I…”

She stepped back and took his chin in her hand, a pragmatic touch that matched her bright, inquisitive blue eyes.

“You need to sit down. Lena, can you take the children to the church? It’s the last building large enough to hold all of us”.

“Yessir!” said a young, bright voice. Its owner was the short haired girl McCree’d seen on their arrival, a swift creature all big eyes and quick smiles despite everything. “But first let us make sure our bad guy doesn’t run away”.

McCree tensed – was she talking about _him_? – but relaxed as he saw Lena undo the sash from her waist and tie the pyromaniac hands and feet.

“Come, she’s right: you need to rest”. Hanzo slid an arm around his waist and his fingers dug circles on his skin, a hidden caress that McCree welcomed with a sigh.

He was slow and every movement caused him pain, but until Hanzo was holding him up everything felt good.

Well, maybe not _everything_ – he was not so sure he hadn’t broken some bone and he couldn’t recall many times he’d needed some booze more badly. They dragged along behind the flock of kids surrounding Angela and Lena, and as they reached the church they found quite a good deal of other citizens had gathered there.

Angela led them all to a dark, quiet corner; a priest by the altar was comforting a crying woman, and some men, their hats in hand, nodded grimly.

McCree sat against the wall and welcomed the cool sensation of the stones against his back. He closed his eyes and extended an arm, but Hanzo was not there anymore.

He looked up and found him by Angela, nodding as she checked his wounds and spoke fluently to Lena. The girl blinked and ran away, almost jumping with every step, her skirt ruffled in her hands.

 _I should get up and offer some help_ , he tried to think, but standing up again was beyond his possibilities at the moment. He just leaned back and closed his eyes, exhausted.

The buzz from the chattering, shocked crowd was strangelycalming and he felt his mind slip into a blissful unconsciousness. He didn’t know how long he lay there, reeking of smoke and confused, but the sudden, light touch on his shoulder startled him. He blinked and gasped, and found Angela crouching in front of him, a dark green bottle in her hand.

“Sorry, Jesse, I didn’t want to wake you up, but I needed to check you out too. Your friend needs stitches but will not let me patch him up until he’s sure you’re alright”, she said with a sweet – and yet too knowing – smile. “This will help”, and she lifted the bottle.

“What… oh. Water?” McCree craved something stronger, but was more than ready to welcome anything could wash the ash from his throat. Angela shook her head and took a long chug.

“Not really”, and her voice was calm and steady.

“You’re an angel”, he thanked her, accepting the bottle and bringing it to his lips.

No, it definitely was _not_ water. Someone could’ve called it whisky, but it was so strong McCree coughed and almost choked as his mouth caught fire. Angela laughed quietly and waited for him to go still, but after he was done panting he drank some more.

“T-That’s some good sh…”

Kids. Everywhere. And they were in a church; McCree was not a religious man, but he knew what respect was. He wiped his mouth and sighed.

“Thank you, miss…”

“It’s just Angela, Jesse. After all these years and what you did with my children we’re beyond this formalities”. She sat by his side and looked at the refugees; golden hair was coiled on a dirty shoulder and her hands, clasped in her lap, were still. “You’re not working for Gabriel anymore, I take”.

“I’m not. Actually I… ah, nevermind”, he muttered. He was tired and didn’t really feel like dwelling on Reyes.

_He was here. He saw me and now…_

“He’s gone, Jesse”. It was like Angela could read his mind.

“Why? Where?”

“I have no idea about the latter, but I think he’s smart enough to choose flight over an arrow to his head”, and she turned to Hanzo. The archer was sitting on the floor, the young girl at his side and her little brother in his lap. He was listening to them chattering, serious as if they were two adult, important people.

McCree felt a lump in his throat, and this time it was not just Reyes’ fault.

Angela took his hand and brushed it lightly.

“You saved Billy and Margareth and I will never thank you enough for this”, she said in her sweet, low voice.

“Me? Nothing special, I just happened to be around and…”

She rose and stooped to kiss his forehead.

“Self loathing will lead you to nothing. I have to see to the kids; drink, rest and remember: you’re a good man, Jesse”. She turned and off she went, in a whirlwind of skirts.

His mouth fell open and he watched her march to her children – not born from her flesh, but welcomed with her heart.

_Me? A good man?_

He couldn’t believe it, and yet he refused not to believe _her_.

“… and this?” A small voice rose from the buzzing and McCree looked in that direction. The boy, Billy, was running a plump finger on Hanzo’s tattoos.

“These are my dragons”, he heard him reply.

“A dragon? How is it? Tell me!” Margareth grabbed his sleeve and tugged it, making Hanzo smile. McCree sat quiet for a while, listening as the other man described the elaborate pattern of scales and fangs and coils that painted his skin.

“They’re blue”. Billy tilted his head. His dark curles, damp with sweat, were a mess but on his round face all fear was gone. “Do they bite?”

“No, unless I ask them to. But I won’t, for now”, and he winked at the child. Billy giggled and snuggled to a more comfortable position.

“Why do you wear them?” asked Margareth, her blind eyes searching Hanzo’s. His expression warmed and a sad smile curled his lips.

“They are the guardian spirits of my family. And all I have left of it”.

“Our mom died when I was born and dad went to Heaven with her last year. Where is your family?” Billy poked at the tattoo as if to see if the dragon would react.

“I left my homeland many years ago. My father was old already and he’s probably dead by now. And so is my younger brother”. His voice dropped to a whisper and grief made him lower his head. McCree wanted to stand and take him in his arms, but he dared not interrupt the moment.

Margareth’s small, dirty hand hovered on Hanzo’s wrist in a feather light touch.

“You quarrelled with him”, she said.

“Indeed”.  
  
“Sometimes we do bad things. Things we wish we didn’t do. Billy pulls my hair and once he put a lizard in my shoe, but he’s my brother, I couldn’t hold him a grudge ”. She climbed Hanzo’s shoulder and leaned to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure your brother is not angry and he has forgiven you”.

“Meggy! Stop bothering our friend Hanzo, and you, Billy, can’t you see he’s wounded?” Lena sprung behind the group and Billy pouted.

“But I want to hear more stories of the dragons!”  
  
“Not now, little rascal”. She stooped and took the kid from Hanzo’s lap; Margareth smiled at him and stood up, taking Lena’s hand.

“Sorry if I bothered you, mister Hanzo. You deserve to smile some more”, and she let Lena take her away. Hanzo opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide and glistening, and just stared at the blind girl trotting in Lena’s trail. Then his shoulders rose in a deep breath and he lowered his head, one hand covering his face. McCree bit his lip as the lump of emotions grew tighter in his throat.

_You do deserve to smile, darlin’._

He felt tears prickle under his lids and drank again to regain some control; when he put the bottle down Hanzo was looking at him. There was a world of sadness and passion in those long, dark eyes, and McCree couldn’t tear his gaze away.

_You deserve forgiveness and happiness, and I just wish I was good enough for you._

He patted the floor at his side in a silent invitation, and with a crooked, melancholic smile Hanzo rose and joined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favourite chapter to write. I *love* writing action scenes, and there's a good amount of feels too - of the good kind, and all well deserved!  
> I can't believe it, I'm getting so much support, I really wish I could thank you all properly! I'll be sad after the last chapter, but sure as hell I won't stop writing about those two nerds.
> 
> (Also, I'm extremely weak for archers on horseback)
> 
> See ya on tumblr @acupofgeek


	8. A different man

“You should let Angela tend to those wounds”. McCree raised an arm and pulled Hanzo close; he didn’t care if the people around them were watching, he just needed to feel they were still alive and together.

Hanzo sniffed softly and laid his head on McCree’s shoulder; he stretched his arm and looked at it.

“They’ve stopped bleeding already, see?”

True, and yet the cobweb of gashes running from his knuckles to his biceps was quite impressive, all red among the blue ink of the dragons. McCree kissed the top of his head.

“The wee ones adore you”, he commented gently, looking at Billy and Margareth accepting some water Lena was offering them.

_And not just them._

With a chuckle Hanzo took his hand and ran his thumb on the blackened skin.

“They were scared and the dragons distracted them. For once I’m glad I’m wearing them”.

They sat in silence and after a while Hanzo adjusted against McCree’s side.

“You knew miss Ziegler?”

“Aye. An exceptional lady, mark my words; war made lots of orphans and she just… took ‘em in. She helped everyone she could – been here for quite a lot of years now, her husband died a long time ago and left her a wealthy widow”. He pushed back a damp strand from his forehead and frowned. “Damn, where’s my hat? And my gun? And my everything?”

“Lena got your stuff, it’s right there by the altar”. He turned on his side and shamelessly circled McCree’s waist with his arm. Red streaks added to the collection of burns and black splotches on his shirt, and he didn’t mind it at all. “You were very brave, Jesse”. Hanzo’s voice was deep and low, and resonated to the bottom of McCree’s heart.

Again his throat clenched in emotion and he buried his face in Hanzo’s hair, closing his eyes.

He wanted to keep on talking – he needed to ask the other man if he was alright, if speaking of Genji again had been as painful as the first time, but he was too tired. He yawned and kicked the ground, wincing to find a more comfortable position.

“You rescued those children”.

“An’ you made them feel safe”, he mumbled, already half asleep.

The archer’s long fingers intertwined with his own.

“Maybe they’re right”, whispered Hanzo. “Maybe we’re not bad people”.

“I wish I could believe it…”

His body was too heavy to move and the church went darker with every passing minute.

_Odd. It’s not the sunset yet…_

Everytime he blinked keeping his eyes open was harder, and in the end he surrendered to sleep.

 

 

When he woke up it was dark – for real, now: the small windows of the church showed scraps of deep blue sky and the vaste nave was almost silent. McCree groaned and cursed under his breath, but when he tried to move his voice rose in a croaking snarl.

“Fuck-this- _all_ ”. He’d thought falling from the burning building was painful, but now it was worse. His muscles were awfully contracted and his ankle pulsated in the close confinement of his boot. It took him a good deal of commitment to catch up with reality, and with every breath came more suffering. But then again, other details came, too. Like Hanzo sleeping with his head in his lap, or the chorus of rhythmic, soft breathing of the children slumped on the benches.

Someone had lit half a dozen of candles by the alter and their flickering light painted gold on the crouched shape of Angela; she caressed the curly head of a kid and tucked him in, and when she stood her face – still dirty and drawn from the long day– was serene.

McCree put a hand on the ground to sit upright and in doing so he realized that not only his forearm was neatly bandaged – and Hanzo had received the same treatment – but his belongings were by his side. With a faint smile he took his gun and put it back at his belt, and he felt more himself than in the previous hours.

Still, as Hanzo moved against his thigh and started to wake up too, a little voice spoke to his soul.

 _Is it the gun, Jesse McCree, or is it something else?_ You _, perhaps?_

He rubbed his eyes and lay his palm on Hanzo’s shoulder, grazing his skin in slow circles. Angela, still walking among the rows of sleeping kids, was singing softly, a hummed melody that sounded like home, like warm milk in the morning and good night kisses.

_She’s smiling and they’re all safe, for now. Hadn’t it been for you the lil’ ones’d be dead now, McCree, and Angela’d been crying. And Hanzo…_

He looked down to the other man. His lips were slightly parted, his cheek squished against his thigh. McCree’s smile grew wider and he brushed his hair.

_… and Hanzo wouldn’t have had his moment of peace._

His mind wandered for a while and the sudden appearance of Angela caught him off guard. He winced and Hanzo opened his eyes, sitting up with a grunt.

“Sorry, sweetpea”, McCree carded his fingers in his hair one last time and looked up at the woman towering above them.

“What’s happening? Is everything alright?” Hanzo blinked and a grimace twisted his features. It had been a long day for him, too.

“I need to talk to you”, said Angela, and the adamant look on her face made her look imposing. “And to our – how should we call him? – _guest_. Can you endure it?”

McCree grunted and stood up, adjusting the hat on his head.

“Bring it on. It takes some more than a couple of cubs and a bonfire to best lil’ol’me”. He extended a hand and Hanzo accepted his help, not letting him go after he got to his feet. At this Angela concealed a smile and bit her lip.

A couple of minutes later the three of them – exhausted and dragging their feet down the stairs in front of the church – reached the exterior of the building. Little was left of Soledad, just a handful of houses and the ghastly silhouettes of the still smoking ruins. Angela’s orphanage was gone and so were the only shops in town; crates and boxes were now guarded by tired, desperate men clutching their guns.

Reyes’ minion, on the other hand, was held in custody of a young and slender teen with the eyes of a much older man. The kid sat on a barrell with a rifle on his knees, and the blonde prisoner was still tied, head lowered and breath harsh.

McCree let go of Hanzo’s hand not without a last hidden caress to his knuckles and stepped forward. All the positive sensations he’d be reveling in paled under the wave of rage that ran through his veins; he crouched with a snarl and caught the man by the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet and banging him back against the wall.

The long, bruised face, still caked in blood, went pale, but a wicked smile twisted the stranger’s thin lips, revealing sharp teeth. Another shove and the beginning of a cackle turned into a gasp; McCree’s fingers twisted the fabric and he pushed his fist against the man’s bared throat.

“Tell me yer name”, he growled. “ _Now_ ”.  
  
“F-Fawkes”, croaked the blonde man. Not just the edges of his clothes but also the tip of his spiky hair looked charred. “Jamison Fawkes”.

“Consider yerself lucky to be still alive, Fawkes. If you want to stay that way”, and he gave the fabric a sharp tug, “better tell me what Reyes wanted from this place”.

“Sir?” A young voice called from behind his back. McCree held Fawkes against the wall, squishing his thin neck under his fist, and turned around. The kid on guard was on his feet, a slender thing all long legs and hands too big for his arms. “ ‘m sorry, sir, but I fear he won’t say much if you choke him”.

Hanzo coughed and Angela was very careful to look anywhere but at McCree, and his rage subsided a bit. He let go of the man, sending him to fold on the ground wheezing and panting, and crouched at his side. Lena’s sash was still tied around his wrists and bony ankles in intricated knots.

“You don’t deserve the kindness of this people, you piece of shit, and sure as hell they didn’t deserve Reyes’ treatment. Now be a good boy an’ tell uncle McCree what your boss wanted from Soledad”.

“He w-wanted _Soledad_ ”, answered Fawkes, large eyes underlined by heavy dark circles twitching in McCree’s face. “Wanted to buy the shops ‘n everything and… and make ‘em all move to Salinas. What use is a shithole like this?”

“He wanted _what_?” Angela shoved McCree aside and it was her time to get hold of the felon’s shirt. Her small fingers dug into his shoulders and she shook him so hard Fawke’s teeth chattered.

The man laughed manically.

“Yeah, turn Salinas into a big city once and for all, the boss’s had enough of being sheriff of a spit of a town and he wanted more”.

Angela pushed him and stepped back, rubbing her palms on her skirt as if to clean them. Her pink lips writhed in disgust and she turned her back to Fawkes.

“Classic Gabe”, muttered McCree. Nausea tingled his jaws and crushed his chest. “God, I need a drink…”

“We need a plan”. Hanzo stormed into the tangle of his anger, and his cold voice was so firm McCree clung to it like an anchor.

“I was thinking ‘bout beating the shit out of this junk here and then…”

“Hanzo’s right”. Angela, grim and stiff with fury, marched away. No need to speak or command: she wanted them to follow her and they both obliged. Far from Fawkes and his young guard she found one of the supply boxes and opened it with a nervous gesture of her hand; another bottle found its way to her lips and she offered it to McCree, who drank gratefully. Alcohol washed away some of the weariness and soothed the blooming headache pulsating behind his eyes; he smacked his lips and handed the bottle to Hanzo, who refused shaking his head once.

The archer sat on the ground, followed immediately by McCree; Angela started to pace in front of them, twisting a golden lock around her index finger.

“We need help. Reyes will come back, and having no more houses to burn he’ll turn to the people. It’s a miracle no one got hurt… well, except for our heroes, here”, and she bowed her head to the two men. McCree felt his cheeks go warm and Hanzo chuckled quietly at his side. “But I’m scared. Next time you may not be around and…”

A slender shadow holding a lamp emerged from the near darkness by the church and all of them tensed, but as the figure approached they recognized Lena. The girl must have been as tired and in shock as them all, and yet when she joined them a broad smile curled her lips.

“They’re all asleep, miss Ziegler. And I wanted to help some more”. She seemed so young and pure McCree couldn’t look at her, but when she sat across from him he remembered.

_This kid’s the one who tied Fawkes hands and feet and helped Angela rescue the children. She’s no delicate flower._

“Good. Lena – miss Oxton, here – is…”

“Just Lena”, and she waved at Hanzo and McCree. Angela smiled some more and sighed.

“Lena is a friend and she helps with the orphanage, and I think we could use her help. Jesse, I need to know: why were you in Soledad?”

He hadn’t expected the blunt question and shame slumped his broad shoulders.

“I… uh… I was after Gabe. He tried to have me hanged for a crime I didn’t commit and…” He took off his hat and ruffled his hair; the burn on his arm stretched and hurt. “Look, I know it’s not noble, I know vengeance sucks and so on, so please don’t lecture me about…”

Hanzo shifted at his side, the touch of his arm a silent comfort; Angela interrupted his rant raising a hand.

“Fine, I understand. He didn’t expect to find you here but I wanted to make sure – _definitely_ sure – you were not involved with his plan. Sorry if I doubted you, my friend”.

McCree smirk was thick with bitterness.

“You have all the reasons to…”

“Not all the reasons: I told you already, enough with your self-loathing, now we need your help”. She stood, fists on her hips and eyes wandering in the distance. “And some from above, too…”

“Don’t ask me to pray, dear, I’m not that kind of guy”.

“I was thinking about something way more down-to-earth”. She threw her hair back and looked down to Lena. “How long do you think it will take you to get to San Jose?”

The dark haired girl counted on her fingers.

“San Jose, you say? It’s some eighty miles, so I’d say a couple of days if I…”

“Why San Jose?” asked McCree, frowning.

“Last time I checked there was a federal marshal stationated there. An old acquaintance of mine, let’s call him that, and if I’m not mistaken he’s the kind of man who’d take Reyes very seriously. Lena can reach out to him and point out the issue”.

“This is a good plan”. Hanzo got to his feet and clenched his left fist, gritting his teeth as the wounds stretched under the thick bandages. “I can go and fetch this marshal of yours; the road is dangerous for a woman and I can ride faster than…”

Lena cocked a thin dark eyebrow and Angela shot Hanzo an icy stare that rendered him silent.

“No one is faster than Lena, mister Hanzo. Do not underestimate her just because she’s a woman”.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I…”

McCree chugged some of the whisky to mask his amusement and ran a hand up Hanzo’s calf. Even in the dim light of the lamp the archer was flushed.

“Aye, I see. Yer no damsels in distress and I second your idea, Angela”. A switch clicked in his head, and as Hanzo huffed at his side, grumpy and with his arms crossed on his chest, McCree’s thoughts found a definite shape. “Besides it’s the right thing to do”. Some more liquid courage and he stood too.

“What? We can’t let her go on her own!” Hanzo looked up and wrinkled his nose.

_You’re adorable._

“We can and we will, because if there’s just one thing that would keep Reyes around long enough to allow the long arm of the law to reach for him… well, that’s _me_ ”.

It made sense. Lena riding North to fetch this old friend of Angela’s and him playing the bait.

His guts clenched but he didn’t falter, meeting a blue, clear stare.

That woman was made of gold and fire, and he was just gunpowder and dirt – and yet he wanted to be useful, for once.

“You’re a fool”, hissed Hanzo, and McCree tilted his head to him.

“I know, you said that already, darlin’. Still, here’s what I’m gonna do: I’ll head back to Salinas and I wait ‘til Lena’s back, and then I’ll…”

“We”.

Hanzo stopped him abruptly and looked up at him; the lamp lit sparkles in his eyes, narrowed in a furious challenge.

“Beg you pardon, honey?”

“ _We_ are going back to Salinas and _we_ are waiting and _we_ do whatever you’re rambling about. Not just you. _We_ ”.

McCree opened his mouth to speak but only managed a strangled gasp. With all his defiance Hanzo was being very clear: he was with him, whatever fate awaited them. He drank again and waited until the warm comfort of whisky calmed the turmoil in his heart.

“Fine, then. We… we can force Reyes to expose himself and… and…”

“And my contact will be there to settle the matter”, Angela finished for him. Her tone was sweeter when she took McCree’s hand in her own. “Jesse, this is dangerous. Are you sure? I don’t want you to risk your life – your lives”, and she nodded at Hanzo, too.

“Worry not, my dear, I’ll keep him safe. All we need is to restock – food, water, ammos, whatever is left. I can pay, of course”.

Lena jumped on her feet, and McCree wondered how she could still be so spry with all they’d been through.

“Same here. I can ride off by dawn, swift as the wind!”

“And I’ll give you a letter to deliver”. Angela took the lamp, and in the flickering light her beautiful face looked drained of all energy. She grazed McCree’s cheek and looked him in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll be careful”.

 

 

When they left the sky was still a greyish shade of pink. Dressed in man’s clothes and with a gun at her belt Lena rode off right before them, and for the whole day McCree was silent. Hanzo didn’t even try to start a conversation, leaving him with his own thoughts.

Angela’d kept her word and now their saddlebags were stuffed with supplies. She even managed to restock Hanzo’s quiver – and none of the men found the strenght to question her about where she’d found those arrows.

They went on slowly, taking secondary routes and keeping the sun on their left side as they proceeded to Salinas in the afternoon.

The sun was starting to set when McCree halted his horse.

“Here”, he said. His voice sounded strange after so many hours of silence and he cleared his throat. “We can set up camp here”. The hillside on their right was already shrouded in shadows, deeper where caves and crevices dug into the red rocks.

Hanzo nodded in response and dismounted; when McCree did the same he took both horses and tended to them, and for some minutes they were too busy with practical tasks to pay much attention to each other.

 _No, that’s a lie yer tellin’ yerself, old man_. McCree knelt on the ground and collected straws and wood into a pile. All their days on the road after that first time, all their nights together had been filled with shared glances and excuses to touch each other.

Now it was different, and not because his feelings for Hanzo were any diminished. Quite the contrary.

Something burdened McCree’s soul, an almost physical sensation that made his breath uneasy and his head heavy.

Fear? No, not really – not just fear, at least, although picturing his final match with Gabe was scary enough on its own. Regret? Sure, but it was something he was accustomed to, and this time he felt different.

His serape was blackened and he’d just got to rinse himself after the fire, so he didn’t mind if it wasn’t exactly clean; he spread it on the ground and just lay there, rolling on his side not to look at Hanzo. The other man was done brushing the horses and after a while McCree heard him approaching.

_Here we go. Now he’ll ask questions and I’ll have no answers and I’ll end up spoiling everything as usual, ‘cause I’m nothing but a…_

He couldn’t finish the sentence in his mind. Without a word Hanzo lay on his serape and spooned behind him, one arm circling his waist.

McCree went tense for a moment, but when Hanzo’s hand found his own he just sighed and let the other man snuggle closer.

The ground was warm beneath them, the sky as red as the flames they had fought just one day before and Hanzo was still with him. His lips brushed the nape of McCree’s neck in a light kiss and rested there, soft and reassuring.

“Something’s changing”, he said after more silence. “In me. It’s scary”.

Hanzo was breathing on his skin, slow and deep, and McCree felt him nod.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…  well, it’s confusin’ and I hate bein’ confused”.

“I don’t know if I can make any difference, but I’m here”, whispered Hanzo, and then, with a spasm of his fingers, he added: “If you want me to”.

McCree gripped Hanzo’s hand and forgot they were both wounded; he squeezed it hard and brought it to his mouth, fiercely kissing the warm skin and smelling a faint hint of blood under the bandages.

“Dear God, Hanzo, you’re the most… I dunno what good I did in my wrecked life to deserve someone like you but don’t leave me, please…”

Another kiss, right where his neck became shoulder, and Hanzo fell quiet. McCree closed his eyes and tried to unravel the tangle of feelings oppressing his mind.

“When… when we first met – and trust me, darlin’, I can hardly believe it’s been just what, ten days? – I had but one thing in mind”. He fiddled with Hanzo’s fingers, brushing his index lightly with his thumb. “Revenge on Reyes. For what he did to me – for falsely accusing me, for tryin’ to have me hanged, for his lies and…”

He sighed deeply and hung his head. “Man, he took me from the mud and at first it looked like he was goin’ to make a man out of me, but I ended up a thug nonetheless”.

“Thugs don’t jump into the fire to rescue children”, pointed out Hanzo. He slid his hand from McCree’s grasp and untucked his shirt, slipping his fingers under the fabric and on the fuzz of his stomach.

“Maybe yer right, but… see, that’s the problem”. He squirmed and giggled at the tickle and clasped the other man’s hand under his shirt. “It’s different, now. I…”

And then the realization dawned on him. Vengeance was something easy, as immediate as instinct; it was the trivial answer to a lifetime of doubts.

Now there was more.

“Gabriel Reyes _must_ be stopped”. His own voice sounded unfamiliar to his ears, deeper and distant.

The bubble of confusion in his chest popped and he opened his eyes.

He held his breath and stared at the landscape – all rocks and dead trees – without really seeing it.

“I have to do it”, he breathed out. “I have to fight Reyes, but not for me. For _them_. B-Because Reyes is not just my problem, he’s a danger for innocent people… and if I have a chance of redemption it’s gonna be through this”.

Done. The simple, terrifying truth spoken in the silence of the desert, with a man from another world, a man he was learning to love as witness. McCree swallowed and a single tear rolled down his nose.

Hanzo tightened his grasp on him and pressed his forehead to his shoulder.

Nothing had changed and at the same time everything was different. Maybe no one else was going to understand what a difference that made, but for him…

_I can be a good man, in the end._

He turned roughly and cupped Hanzo’s face in his hands, hungry for a kiss, for his proximity; Hanzo blinked once but immediately melted in his arms. McCree gasped against his lips and opened his mouth, welcoming the tongue exploring him, the pressure of the body crawling upon him. He got lost in every kiss, in every inch of skin he touched – trembling hands traveling down Hanzo’s neck and under his coat.

The archer tugged his shirt and pulled it up, and McCree sat propping up on his elbow to help him.

It was messy and frenzied, hands shaking on his belt and Hanzo jerking to slip out of his pants. As they clung to each other, naked and panting between kisses, time stopped.

Hanzo was straddling his hips, his hair coming undone in dark waves on his bare shoulders, and frowned when McCree stood still.

“Is everything alright?” he whispered, pushing a lock behind his hear.

“Yeah, I…”

He couldn’t answer. His heart beat too fast, his voice was weak and tears were choking him for all the beauty that surrounded him. The sky poured his last golden light on the world and Hanzo was there with him – he was _his_.

_And I am yours._

He sat up and kissed him again, the fire in his body burning brighter when their tongues brushed together, and in the end all that existed was the perfect sensation of their bodies fitting together. He balled that luscious mass of hair in his fist and pulled back, bending Hanzo’s neck and exposing his throat. Teeth on skin, the pulsation of blood under his lips and that wonderful muffled sound – he started to move without even realizing it, rolling his hips in sync with Hanzo’s thrusts.

It was been enough. All he wanted was to get lost in their friction, to chase the pleasure building fast in his body and sent throbbing waves from his cock up to his head. Hanzo leaned closer, his lips resting by McCree’s ear.

“I need you. Now”.

McCree grabbed his ass and kneaded the firm flesh, head spinning and tears still clinging to his lashes.

When Hanzo slipped a hand between them and his fingers wrapped around his cock McCree threw his head back and moaned out loud. He reached out and closed his fist around the hand slowly stroking him, increasing the pressure and bucking up, almost desperate. And next thing he knew was that Hanzo was kissing him – deep and needy, rising on his knees and opening up for him.

He stopped for a second, giving McCree a painfully sweet look, and then started to move again, a slow, delightful agony that turned his ragged breath into a prayer.

“Fuck, darlin’… I… please…”

The archer pressed harder, sliding back and forth and leaning forward to rub his cock against McCree’s.

“What?” he panted, and for all the mischievous grin on his lips his eyes were pools of warmth, his gaze a touchless caress on McCree’s face.

“This… just… just _this_ ”. He ruthlessly dug his fingers in the other man’s hips and thrusted harder and faster in wild movements.

The smugness on Hanzo’s features was short lived; lust, heavily tinged with raging tenderness, made his lids heavy. He spread his legs further and groaned a constant flow of bitten off curses.

There’d been a time for tease and play, but now it was different. He didn’t care about his pride or anything else, he was just drowning in the pressure over his cock, in the growing tension of muscles and blood roaring in his ears and head and everywhere. He arched his back and bared his teeth, slamming his hips against Hanzo’s, barely aware of anything but the ebb and flow of pleasure.

He tensed with a sob and came – quick, violent shocks that twisted the very fabric of his soul, that drew a beastly sound from his throat and painted their stomachs in white heat. Hanzo kept on moving above him, and when McCree eventually breathed out the shaky remains of his orgasm he could clearly see him.

Nails scratching his skin, head lulled down on his chest and wet lips open in panting breaths – the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Back to himself McCree sat up and cradled Hanzo’s face in his hands, capturing his mouth in a kiss with the faint salty taste of tears.

He bucked up once more, driving Hanzo down his same precipice and drinking the muffled howl he let out against him. He felt the other man’s cock throb against his body and go hot and wet and sticky as he reached him.

Hanzo quivered in his arms and panted hoarsely against his lips, pulling back just enough to look at him.

They stood still for long, the archer’s fingers rising to wipe McCree’s wet cheeks and sinking into his hair and beard.

Ever so slowly their bodies relaxed and their hearts found peace, and for once McCree got nothing to say.

Hanzo made up for it, bumping their foreheads together.

“I love your fire. I love your passion and your good heart and I love…”

“… _you_ ”.

With a sharp intake of breath Hanzo stared at him, speechless. McCree’s smile was something else from his usual smirks and he shook his head.

“Nevermind me, babe, I’m an old romantic mess and…”

He couldn’t finish his phrase. Hanzo was kissing him once more, bare muscular arms wrapped around his neck in a wordless answer.

McCree could have cried for real, now.

 _You’re not alone_ , that kiss seemed to say, and he knew that this time it was true.

Reyes awaited, but now it was not just his fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there everyone!  
> Again thank you all! I know, I'm redundant but whatever, I still can't believe so many are following my little Wild West mess :)  
> Next chapter will be the last and I'm kind of sad - but not really, I have other things in progress! (Truth is I'm weak as hell and can't stop writing McHanzo stuff, who am I kidding)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this update too, see ya next week for the show down!


	9. Home, somewhere

Fear crept upon McCree as they approached Salinas. He and Hanzo had waited four days, wandering the surroundings of the city and hoping in silence that Angela's plan would prove effective. He felt optimistic: they'd seen what looked like Reyes' men at least once a day since leaving Soledad, and always had managed to avoid them.

_For now._

Four days of desert and tension, of hands touching as they rode around and mouths locking in a thirst for life and hope they could not quench.

The more time passed, the more McCree realized another terrifying truth: he was totally, hopelessly in love. It was not just Hanzo's body he desired - and of that he seemed to never have enough, something that made him feel like a rutting teenager again; he wanted to be with him and make him happy, to snatch another day from the cold hands of Death to spend with him, looking for a place in the world and knowing that somewhere, someday they could have found it.

As silence had brought him love, then, now love brought him fear.

"... and not for me", he said the last night they spent in the desert. He was sitting between Hanzo's legs and the archer's chin rested on top of his head.  McCree drummed his fingers on Hanzo's knees and puffed out some smoke from his cigar.

It had taken him a good deal of guts to confess his partner he was scared, and even now he had to take advantage of the darkness and of the deeper intimacy after lovemaking. Hanzo leaned forward and the kiss he lay on McCree's neck turned into a bite that made him squirm and giggle despite everything.

"I hope you're not fearing for me, Jesse, because as you know very well I can look after myself".

"Sure you do, darlin'". He turned and another kiss fluttered to his lips. It was tempting - let the argument give way to something easier and more rewarding. And way more _physical_.

He forced himself back and sighed, shaking his head.

"If it were just fo' me I'd laugh in the very face of fate and just go for it. Call out for Gabe and blow his face up and be satisfied to die like this". He mimed shooting with his fingers; his actual gun was safely resting at his side, and with all that he would have loved to share some more contact with Hanzo's skin he knew they needed to stay in guard. His hand traced the sharp line of Hanzo's shin under his silken pants. "But... I dunno, I want to survive. It's like I'm at the beginning of somethin', and not at the end as I thought before".

Hanzo carded his fingers in his hair and pulled him back to lay against his chest.

"Then we will think of something. I'll be at your side… and now _don't move_ and try to look relaxed because I saw something move by these rocks".

McCree instantly tensed, but otherwise he stood motionless, following the direction of Hanzo's stare. Some dozen feet from their camp a cluster of rocks rose black against the starry sky, surrounded by the bare branches of bushes. All the hairs on his body were now standing, the alert reaction of a hunted animal.

The bushes moved under a gust of wind - and then some more after the air went still again.

McCree turned and kissed Hanzo's cheek, cradling his face so that his lips brushed the archer's ear.

"Saw that too. They got us". He smiled against the black beard grazing his nose. "And I think I've just had an idea".

He felt Hanzo shifting his weight on his hands to grab hold of his bow.

"Could you please shoot an arrow when I tell you to, my precious lovely angel?"

"You and your foolish nicknames... does this look like the right moment?" muttered Hanzo. McCree turned to face him and grinned against his lips.

"I was about to say that it's always the right moment to remind you how pretty you are, but shoot. _Now_!"

He shuffled on the side and Hanzo armed his bow so fast McCree barely saw the movement. The arrow hissed in the air and hit the ground between the shrubs.

A loud gasp, rustling of fabric and a muffled curse all rose from behind the rocks.

Everything turned into a chaos rather quickly after that. McCree jumped on his feet as Hanzo nocked another arrow, one knee on the ground.

"Get outta there, you filth!" McCree rolled on his shoulders to reach the hideout, and a gun shot right where he'd been the moment before.

He shifted to the side and fired. It was dark, almost too dark to see, but the two shadows now standing in front of him were even darker; the nearest man let out a cry of suffering when the bullet exploded on his wrist and his gun flew away in the dusk.

McCree spread his feet and bent his knees, well rooted to the ground, and pointed to the remaining thug.

"Drop your weapon, my friend, and no one gets hurt. No one else, at least", and he nodded to the man now sobbing by his companion. The sweet and ferrous smell of blood shaded the air.

"I won't! I can be f-faster than you, McCree!"

"Not faster than this, though". Hanzo's voice rumbled from behind the man. The tip of an arrow shone a scant inch from the stranger's skull, and the archer's eyes were cold.

"See, man, in your shoes I'd just behave and do as I'm told. Come on", and gestured him with the still smoking barrel. The man shivered and slowly lifted his hands, letting go of his gun.

"Oh, and _obviously_ yer not faster than me, don’t be ridiculous", added McCree. When the thug winced he raised his gun again and Hanzo poked the man on the head.

"S-Sorry! I ain't gonna do nothing, sir. Just don't... don't kill me!"

"What should we do, darlin'?" He asked Hanzo, rubbing his beard in a parody of thoughtfulness.

"Kill him on the spot?"

"Kill him, you say? Nah, not really into spending the night with a pair of corpses nearby. And there's no way I'd bury their remains".

"What about we stop wasting time and you come up with some decent idea?"

McCree grinned like a cat who found some cream and stepped to the prisoner. He bumped his - rather long and crooked - nose with his gun and shook his head.

"My my, this sound just right, innit, my friend? What about this: you two now turn around and run like the wind to Salinas - oh, you there, stop whimpering, yer not dying!" he scoffed the wounded man, who fell silent instantly. "Tell Gabriel Reyes I'm comin' for him".

"I... I... what?" stuttered the stranger. At this McCree lost his temper; he grabbed him by the hair and pushed him to his knees without taking the gun off his face.

"Tell him Jesse McCree demands a duel", he growled in the man's ear. "Tell everyone I challenge him. In the streets, tomorrow at high noon - _everyone_ , got it?" After a sharp tug the stranger yelped - and yet he didn't lower his hands.

"Yessir! Ah!"

McCree shoved him back, right against Hanzo's legs; the archer lowered his bow but didn't move from his position.

"Go", added McCree in a deadly whisper. "Now, before I change my mind".

The two mercenaries - or whatever they were - stumbled to their feet and clung to each other. The wounded one was still panting but let his companion drag him by his arm. None of them attempted to get their guns back: they just ran for their lives and soon disappeared into the night.

For long minutes McCree couldn't put his gun back at his belt; only when a half-gloved hand touched his wrist he relaxed his arm with a sigh.

"A bold move", said Hanzo. "And yet an honorable one".

"Yeah, whatever... I thought it was better to have everyone all around know it's a duel. Reyes can't refuse a challenge - not that he would ever, by the way. He's a bastard, but a damned proud one - and it gives me a chance". He turned to Hanzo and dipped his head to kiss him briefly. "I'm probably faster than Gabe; I doubt he'll play it clean but it's worth a try".

Hanzo sighed and bumped his forehead to McCree's shoulder. The flat shape of his bow was crushed between them.

"Only one chance". He looked up to him, features barely visible in the darkness. "Try not to get yourself killed, Jesse. I don't think I want to lose you".

Despite the burden on his heart McCree smiled and took Hanzo's chin in his fingers, tilting his head up.

"I'll do my best, honey, I swear". One last kiss and they broke apart; McCree ran his hand under his hat and sighed again. "Hell, it's gonna be a damn long night".

"Rest. I stand guard", said Hanzo, but instead of sitting far from the fireplace he just turned his back to it and invited McCree patting his thigh.

"You spoil me", chuckled McCree, but he was content to lay down, head resting on the dusty silk of Hanzo's thigh.

No way he was going to fall asleep, but it was alright the same. Let those two men run to Reyes and deliver the message. The next day, with the sun high in the sky, McCree knew who and what was going to wait for him.

 

 

No dawn blessed the desert in the morning. When they rode off to Salinas the sky was a leaden gray cloak suffocating the Earth and all of its sounds. Even the stomping of the hooves was dulled, and the city in the distance looked like shadows against an incoming storm.

“Fitting”, deadpanned Hanzo as they approached the town, and McCree couldn’t disagree.

He felt heavy and charged with desperate energy – the final match awaited, and he knew there was going to be no turning back.

_Either I kill Gabe or he kills me, and nothing will ever be the same again._

It was the most painful thought he’d ever had; mixed with the hatred he felt for the man were the vestiges of the friendship they’d shared, forged in years of desert and adventure. McCree hunched his shoulders and did his best to ban his feelings from his mind: Reyes was not going to be so sentimental with him.

In the thick silence - air smelling of impending rain and of fear – he rode by Hanzo until they stopped on a hill looking down to Salinas.

“So here we are”, he growled. The archer halted his horse at his side and stared at the city, serious.

“I meant it”, he said in his low voice without looking at him. “Don’t die, Jesse”.

McCree bit his lip and raised his face to the clouds; the first raindrop fell on his cheek.

“I’m an idiot, y’know. All mouthy and out of place, more trouble than I’m worth”. He sharply turned to Hanzo and caught him looking at him, his dark eyes glimmering. “But one thing I know. I love you, and loving you is the single thing that could redeem a lifetime of wrongdoing”.

At this Hanzo hissed something in his own language and threw himself into his arms, the poor horse snorting for the movement.

Warm, strong, McCree cradled him against his chest and muffled a sob in the silky mass of his hair. Hanzo’s hands clutched his back and his lips trembled on the slice of skin over the serape.

“You reckless, fool of a cowman”, he grunted. “I won’t lose you”.

“I’ll do my best, darlin’, you know this?” He stroke Hanzo’s hair and fiddled with the scarf tying his ponytail before sitting upright on the saddle. “God, I’m a lucky man…”

“I’ll come with you. And”, he pointed his finger at McCree, stopping him before he spoke, “there’s nothing you may say that could make me change my mind”.

“Nothing?” McCree laughed to mask the mixture of fear and broken heart that was choking him. “Not even if I said it is a matter of honor – and you know it?”

Hanzo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I feared you’d come up with something like that. And honor binds me not to leave you alone in this task. End of the story”.

“Honor and pride look very much alike”. With a start, McCree leaned forward and grabbed Hanzo’s jaw, closing his mouth with a fierce kiss. After a moment of surprise, Hanzo parted his lips and his tongue darted between them.

_Enough of this, or I’ll lose what courage I have left._

McCree sighed and broke from the kiss, stroking Hanzo’s hair one last time.

“Reyes is mine. And I’ll come back to you one way or another”. He let go of the other man and kicked the horse’s sides, hurrying down the slope.

Entering Salinas proved that his message had been delivered. Not a soul walked the red road between the two rows of buildings, and their empty windows stared down at McCree like countless ghostly eyes.

The sound of his horse stomping the ground echoed in the void – and as he turned around he found that Hanzo was gone.

A cynical smirk curled his lips.

_Not really. He is just around here, somewhere. No way he’d let me go through this alone._

A thunder rolled among the heavy clouds and McCree patted the horse’s neck to calm the rearing beast. He held himself to the pommel and dismounted, eyes scanning the way.

No trace of human presence, and yet the hairs on his arms rose in the certainty that he was being watched. After tying the reins to the fence of the nearest building he walked slowly down the road; raindrops started to pour from the sky – as dark as at sunset, the world a flat expanse of shadows and silence.

Another thunder, followed by the whinnying of horses.

McCree got a grip on his gun and pulled it out its holster.

“Here we are, Gabe. You were lookin’ fo’ me and now yer playin’ shy? Etiquette requires you come to greet yer old friend…”

He stood still, legs wide apart and rain slowly dripping from his hat. A gust of wind caught his serape and the rough red fabric flapped around his shoulders.

Somewhere a window was moaning on its hinges, a ghastly sound soon matched by the rhythmic tinkling of spurs behind him. McCree froze and sneered; he didn’t need to look to know who was coming.

“You’re hard to kill, _cariño_ ”, said the same voice that still haunted his nightmares. “I should have known better than handling you to those idiots”.

McCree turned and finally saw him. Reyes walked from under the porch of a tall, white building; black – everything about him was black, except for those cold, almost golden eyes crinkling at the corner in a cruel smile.

“So let’s end this for good, old man”, hissed McCree, thumb pressing down the hammer. The cylinder clicked into place and the vibration resonated through his bones, up to his heart.

Reyes reached him, a tall figure stepping in the middle of the road under what was turning fast into a downpour.

“It shouldn’t have ended like this”, he said, and for a split second the way he shook his head seemed sad. “I loved you like a son, Jesse, and I could have turned you into something different than a hired gunslinger”.

Another lightning creaked in the sky, and the flash of white and blue light lit the golden star on Reyes’ chest. McCree narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth.

“Aye, and what? I wanna have no part in your schemes, Gabe; no more plotting in the shadows, no more takin’ advantage on poor people. Jesus fucking Christ, you sent an orphanage ablaze!”

“Difficult times require ruthlessness. You should know it well, or you wouldn’t be here, looking in the eyes of a man you’re planning to kill”.

The boulder on his soul was heavier than ever and McCree tightened his grip on his gun. The trigger seemed to come to life under his index finger.

“Sure, ‘cause if I don’t you’ll spend your life hunting me down out of mere stubbornness…”

Reyes sighed, but McCree saw the gun he was holding. His hand didn’t tremble.

“I wish things were different, Jesse. I miss the times we were friends”.

McCree clenched his jaws against an unwanted surge of emotions in his throat.

“I miss them too, but there’s no turning back. Now…”

The next thunder was so loud the very ground seemed to shiver under their feet. It covered the roaring of rain – and the gasp from the roof right above them, but not the wet thump of the body falling into a puddle.

McCree’s muscles tensed and his eyes took him every detail in a split second. A dead man, a gun at his side.

A black arrow sticking from his back.

Then Reyes fired, and all McCree knew was pain. A red rose of burning blood blossomed on his side and he stopped being human. Above the searing suffering of the bullet gnawing his flesh instinct screeched and took the reins of his body. He fell on a knee and lifted his arm.

Another explosion, so near his ear it filled his head with a deafening buzz, before he pulled the trigger.

Once – Reyes cried out loud as his elbow burst into a cascade of blood.

Twice – and he fell on his back, the hole in his shoulder fuming under the rain. McCree panted and pressed his hand on the wound, his hip and leg soaking not just in water. He limped to Reyes ignoring the flickering white lights dancing at the corner of his eyes and kicked the other man’s gun away, now useless in the mud.

The muzzle was still hot and it sizzled in Reyes’ beard as he pressed it under his chin – _don’t fall now, McCree, yer not dead yet. Not. Yet._

“Yer a sick bastard”, he gasped. Standing still was getting harder with every passing second, but he was not done yet. “A fucking _sniper_ ”.

Reyes chuckled, a sadistic grin splattered in red.

“And you took that damned archer with you. We’re even, McCree”.

“The hell we are. I should b-blow your head up for all you’ve done…”

“Do it then. I’m at your mercy”. A pained grimace twisted his features; he was going pale, and very fast.

McCree relaxed back his arm and his gun fell to his side. He tried to speak but only produced a strangled gasp, and Reyes laughed again. “Oh, come on, say it – that you’re not like me, that you’re better and…”

“No”, he interrupted abruptly. “I won’t say that”. He took a deep breath and pressed harder the wound on his side. Blood was still running, hot and sticky.

The wet shuffling of footsteps rose over the splashing of rain and McCree hissed between his teeth.

Footsteps? No.

 _Hooves_.

He looked Reyes in the eyes one last time and grinned, swaying dangerously and bending his knees not to fall.

“Yer not done payin’ for your crimes, Gabe, but I won’t scratch another notch on my belt”.

A huge gray horse stopped feet from him, rearing and kicking, and a tall man dismounted with a jump so agile it disproved his age – short white hair (or where it blonde? Hard to tell under the rain), icy blue eyes and the uniform of a soldier. Or something like that: McCree couldn’t make out much more, for the world went a bit darker and he collapsed on his side. Before he could fell, though, Hanzo grabbed him and held him upright.

McCree managed to steady himself, despite the blood still dripping down his leg, and leaned against Hanzo. Relief and the aftermath of tension got the best of him and he slowly sat down, bringing the archer with him.

“So you saved me again”, he mumbled. Hanzo pushed a wet strand from his face and snarled.

“I hope so. You’re bleeding like a pig”, and he pressed his hand over McCree’s, pushing harder over the wound. The added pressure seemed to do the trick, for the flow apparently slowed down.

Reyes hoarse laughter grew louder as the stranger walked closer.

"A... a federal marshall. You brought along a federal marshall! Oh, Jesse McCree, you're a wicked kid".

"You should have killed him. He talks too much", grunted Hanzo, not letting go of McCree's wound.

Other horses came - men in uniforms, a blonde braid under a hood. McCree's head lolled forward as his eyelids went too heavy.

Cold. He was cold, despite Hanzo still clutching him, and it all felt like falling asleep after a fever.

"Darlin', I'm sorry", he whispered.

Blood flowed in the mud and the sky rumbled his rage. It was nothing, just a faraway echo, but Hanzo's voice was calling him.

"Jesse? Jesse! No! _No no no_..."

 _No_.

McCree breathed in shakingly one last time and collapsed in Hanzo's arms.

 

 

When he started to wake up he had no idea where he was. He was in a bed, and this on its own was not bad news, especially considering that dead men weren't usually granted the luxury of a pillow. McCree shifted under covers that smelled like lavender - this was odd, too - and the strong scent tickled his nose; eyes still shut closed he suppressed a sneeze, and finally his physical sensations came back to him.

All together. Like being punched in the throat and kicked in the balls at the same time.

With a moan, McCree shifted his hand to his side, where a halo of dull suffering extended to his stomach, and he peeked down when he felt a thick layer of bandages wrapping his torso.

A faint smile stretched his lips and he blinked: he made it out alive. Again. He could have laughed, too, but even breathing sent shocks of flames through his muscles, so he simply patted the tended wound and rubbed his eyes against the blinding light entering the window.

He was naked from the waist up and his belongings - hat and belt and everything - was hanging from the bedpost; when he looked around the room his heart leaped.

Hanzo was sleeping on a chair in the corner by the window, the bright rays of sunlight painting silver sparkles in his beard.

McCree shook his head at the sight, incredulous.

_My guardian angel, my outlander, my love - I can't believe it. I'm alive and yer here._

He squirmed and threw the covers away, but when he tried to put his feet on the floor the bed creaked mournfully and Hanzo bolted up on the chair, fully awake.

"Bless the ancestors, you're awake!" he whispered, and in the blink of an eye he was by the bed, his hands clasping McCree's shoulders.

"Easy there, sugar! Don't wanna fall on top of me, right? Or maybe yes?" and he winked, but Hanzo ignored him, too busy exploring his body with a concerned stare.

"Are you alright? You're not bleeding anymore, and miss Ziegler was worried - you lost quite a lot of blood, Jesse, I... I feared that you..."

"Hey". His voice was not steady but his hand was; he lifted it and cupped Hanzo's cheek, turning his face to him. They were so close their lashes were interlacing, and he couldn't help but smile some more. "I'm here. I'm fine, love".

Hanzo gulped and scrunched his nose in a grimace, but before McCree could find something else to say he kissed him, grabbing a handful of damp hair on the back of his neck.

McCree submitted gladly to the kiss, even if Hanzo was shaking and he still felt a bit queasy - he was not fond of almost dying, though he had to admit that he vastly preferred it to dying _entirely_. He tried to wrap his arm around Hanzo's waist but the movement stretched something and he grunted, half muffled by the tongue caressing his own. Hanzo immediately pulled back with wide eyes.

"Sorry, you're still weak and I shouldn't have..."

"Honey, the only problem here is that if you keep on kissing me like that we'll make this bed creak for good, and I'm afraid that... wait, you said miss Ziegler? Is Angela here?" He tried to get up, Hanzo tried to push him back and they ended up struggling to best each other in the most awkward dance ever.

"She is and she insisted you need to be a good boy and stay in bed".

"In bed or sleeping?" he joked, and Hanzo slapped his forehead.

"I swear, Jesse McCree, I'm pretty sure you're a badly disguised fourteen-year-old. You just got a bullet pulled out of your stomach, you should be more careful". He let his hand fall and helped McCree standing up, grumbling what sounded like a constant flow of Japanese profanities.

McCree laughed and stooped to kiss him some more, gently biting his lower lip. Hanzo breathed sharply and his cheeks flushed, and McCree had to force himself to stop.

“How long did I sleep? It must be almost night already”, and he looked out of the window; the sky was golden and clear, no more trace of clouds. Hanzo handed him his shirt – still damp but almost clean, despite the blackened hole on the side; someone had washed it – and went serious.

“It’s morning. You slept for almost a whole day”. McCree stopped with one arm stuck in a sleeve and raised his eyebrows.

“Damn, a pretty long nap, wasn’t it?”

Hanzo snatched his hand and squeezed hard; his eyes darkened as he stepped closer.

“I thought you were dead, Jesse. It… it broke my heart. Don’t ever do that again”.

“Oh, honey”, but his voice faltered. The witty reply crashed against Hanzo’s pained and loving expression and McCree leaned to kiss his forehead. “I don’t make promises light-heartedly. Told ya I’d come back, and here I am”. He grunted and buttoned up his shirt without letting go of Hanzo, then grabbed his hat and looked down at his companion.

Hanzo visibly relaxed and almost smiled.

“Angela’s waiting for you, and that marshal – Morrison, if I recall correctly. They said they needed to talk to you, and I’m not sure this doesn’t mean trouble”.

His good spirits dulled a bit. Pressing his hat on his head McCree dropped his hand and buckled his belt.

“Fine. Bring it on, I can take some more – as long as you’re with me”.

The archer sneered.

“If you think I’d let anyone take you from me you’re badly mistaken”, and in saying so he looked dangerous. A wolf – _his_ wolf.

McCree grimaced when he opened the door – that damned wound was bothering him more than he wanted to admit – and took the stairs.

He’d expected to find marshal Morrison in the sheriff’s office, but as they proceeded to the ground floor McCree heard Angela laugh softly and a male, rough voice add something. Turned out they were in a saloon, if the long, polished counter was to be trusted. McCree was panting already when he reached the last step and grabbed the wooden railing.

Two pairs of blue eyes – Angela’s were large and sweet, Morrison not so much – pinned him in place. The federal marshal was sitting backwards on a chair, thick arms propped on the backrest and a smile freezing on his lips. McCree blinked and watched him carefully: a man in his fifties, with a long, pale face sporting some very suggestive scars and an aquiline nose. When he slowly stood up McCree noticed he was tall, at least as tall as him, and everything in his demeanor conveyed an air of steel authority.

Morrison pushed his chair back and turned it, inviting McCree with a gesture.

“Nice to see you’re back on your feet, kid. I trusted Angela’s judgment, but your partner”, and he pointed at Hanzo with his chin, “didn’t seem so convinced you weren’t dying. Name’s Jack Morrison”.

Being called ‘kid’ felt weird, but McCree didn’t refuse the chair. He felt tired as if after a long ride. Oddly enough, the saloon around them was quietly buzzing with life: it was so different from the still silence he’d met when arriving in Salinas, and he appreciated the change. A plump barman with a white beard was wiping a glass and someone was singing – very badly – from the kitchen.

“Where’s Gabe – er – Reyes?” asked McCree, looking up in Jack’s stormy blue eyes without faltering.

“He’s alive, Jesse”, answered Angela. “Although he doesn’t deserve your pity”.

 _And yet he’ll have it_ , he thought, but his chest felt lighter.

“Alive, very angry and on the road to San Jose. There’s a cell waiting for him and he has much to explain to the law”. Jack walked slowly around McCree’s chair, the heels of his shiny boots tickling on the wooden floor. “The same can be said about you, Jesse McCree”.  
“Ah, so here we are. The bounty thing, am I right? Is there a cell by Gabe’s ready for me?”

“Maybe”, said the marshall, and with all the anger rising in his ribcage, enflamed by Hanzo’s killer stare, McCree was surprised to see a smirk at the corner of Jack’s lips. “And maybe not”.

He sniffed and twisted his mouth in disdain.

“Look, soldier or whatever you are, if you want me to cooperate or something I’m not sure I’m the best for…”

Morrison interrupted him with a glance so icy cold it sent shivers down his spine.

“Angela and Lena are vouching for you. I’m told you helped to rescue her children from the orphanage Reyes’ attacked some days ago: is it true?”

“If you don’t believe her why should you believe me?” he laughed mirthlessly, but Jack ignored him.

“I _do_ believe her, but I wanted to hear it from your voice: is it true?” he asked again. McCree opened his mouth for another snarky retort, but damn, he was tired. He just nodded, looking at the dusty tips of his boots.

“Good then. Soledad needs to be rebuilt, and you can’t imagine what a mess paperwork is. Files getting lost, names erased by an ink spilling – and have you ever seen the portraits of convicted felons? God, they’re bad, they all look the same”.

His words, spoken in a light, cold tone, slowly found their way to McCree’s brain. He looked up to Morrison and his jaw dropped.

“What… you’re… I…” He turned to Hanzo and found an identical look of shock on his face.

Jack closed the distance between them and, hands sunk in his pockets, stooped so close McCree felt his warm breath on his face. The man’d been drinking coffee.

“Behave, work hard and help make Soledad a place fit for children again, and I will _probably_ forget your criminal record”. He stood again and cocked a pale eyebrow. “And then who knows, the world’s full of bad guys waiting to get caught, and…”

“… and justice ain’t gonna dispense itself. Are you offering me a job, Morrison?”

It sounded too good to be true, so he resorted to his signature sardonic grin.

Jack shrugged and quickly winked at Angela.

“Sounds like I do, McCree. Start with Soledad and then come find me: there’s always a place for good, capable men in my ranks”. And with this he bowed to Angela, shot a last look to Hanzo and him and turned his back, heading out.

Angela, after failing in her attempts at hiding a smile behind her hand, reached McCree. He was appalled, eyes fixed on the swinging doors of the saloon, and eyebrows so high on his forehead they almost disappeared under his hat.

A soft, fresh hand grabbed his jaw with more strength than expected and McCree found himself being examined closely by a clear and clinical stare.

“No fever: good. Try not to jump off cliffs or – how can I put it? – indulge in _exhausting physical activities_ for one day or two and you’ll be as good as new”. Angela patted his cheek and stepped back, and McCree was very careful not to look at Hanzo. He could feel him blush, as if heat was radiating from his body.

“Yeah I… thank you again, Angela. I – er – I’ll behave, I promise”.

“I know, Jesse: I trust you. I’m going back to Soledad and I expect to find you there by next week; I take you’re not going to waste this chance you’re given”.

Her smile was brighter than the morning sun shining through the windows and McCree took off his hat and stood up; his legs felt wobbly but his head was clearer, now.

“See you at home, then. Billy and Meggy will be excited to ear more of the dragons”. She waved Hanzo and headed out.

 _Home_.

Hanzo reached McCree and placed a hand on his lower back.

“You heard the doctor. You should rest”.

“I know, but darlin’, I’m bad at taking advice”. He slung a harm on the archer’s shoulders and pushed him closer to kiss his temple. “I’m hungry, so now let’s eat something, we ride off by sunset”.

Hanzo nuzzled the crook of his neck and laughed – a carefree, purring sound that healed something in McCree’s soul.

“Won’t you fall off your horse?”

“Probably not, and in any case you’ll be there to catch me”.

 

 

He said and meant it: the sun was sinking over the horizon in a stunning crimson sky, as if the storm had painted the whole world anew in bright colours, and they were ready to leave. McCree had required some assistance to get on his horse, and Hanzo had promptly provided it, together with an endless series of curses in both languages.

They left Salinas, walking slowly side by side in the glorious sunset.

“Feelin’ excited, honeybun?”

“What? Oh. Well, I must admit it’s a nice change. Having a purpose, not running away anymore…”

McCree huffed when his horse stepped in a hole on the road and the movement made his wound throb under the bandages; Hanzo noticed and shot him a concerned look, met by a serene smile.

“Do you ever think about going back to your homeland, darlin’? To Hanamura, I mean”.

Hanzo blinked and moved his gaze to the horizon, his lips slightly upturned and his eyes melancholic.

“It’s a long journey, but… who knows? Someday, after we’re done with Soledad, I’d like to go visit my brother’s grave. It could close the circle, and I would find peace”. At this McCree took his hand and kissed the strong fingers. “But I think this peace lies on this side of the ocean”.

“We can arrange that, sweetheart. I wouldn’t leave you alone – if bringing along a loud, ruffled cowboy doesn’t bother you”. Hanzo chuckled and brushed his beard, playfully pinching his cheek.

“Loud, ruffled and with a soft spot for absurd nicknames…”

“What… you don’t _like_ them, angel?”

“Don’t call me that!”  
  
“Dove?”

“Jesse…”

“ _Pumpkin_?”

The archer threw his head back and punched McCree’s shoulder, and the sudden gesture caused the horse to skid and huff. McCree laughed out loud and shook his head.

“Oh, Hanzo, could you believe it? After all we’ve been through…”

“ _Aishiteru_ ”.

“What?”

“Oh, nevermind”. Hanzo smile lit up his face as he spurred the horse forward into a steady gallopp.

“No, wait! What does that mean?” McCree hurried his own mount, ignoring the pain from his side.

“I said nevermind!”  
  
“Hanzo! Come on, tell me!”  
  
“Make me, cowman!”

“Please!”

The echo of their laughter and the thumping of hooves resonated through the desert. The first stars started to paint the sky, blinking against the purple canopy.

They were going home.

 

 

[Source](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/post/159934488645/diefuss-ufff-made-this-after-reading-who-taught)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for happy endings, so here, have yours.  
> It's been quite the ride and I'm so grateful for all the support I received - it really meant the world to me. All these kudos and comments and everything boosted my (hopelessly low) self-esteem and I think I can say my writing skills are way better than they used to be.  
> I'll miss this story and I'm pretty sure there's gonna be something more to say about it, so I'm not saying I'll go back to write some little spin-off but actually that's right what I'm saying. 
> 
> There's a brand new AU on the making, and I think I'll upload the first chapter in the next weeks (I just need some time to get the plot going and write enough material to have an acceptable schedule), so I hope you'll stay tuned for what will come next.
> 
> Once more, thank you ALL for everything and see you on tumblr (someday I'll stop being your random 'lemme reblog EVERYTHING' blog I promise) @acupofgeek


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